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MORE THAN 
CORONETS 

STORIES OF 
KIND HEARTS 

BY 

LULU LINTON 



CINCINNATI, O. 

THE STANDARD PUBLISHING COMPANY 
1903 




UBRAKY of CONGRESS 


Two Copies Received 


FEB 15 1904 

i Copyright Entry 

> V ux-o. %i-/er 0 4* 
CLASS XXc. No, 

81 3 X k 

COPY 3 


Copyrighted, 1903, 

By The Standard Publishing Company. 


« 




TTo tbe Iktnb Mearts 

Who have ever helped me in my work , I 
gratefully dedicate this little book . 


9 


‘ Howe’er it be, it seems to me, 

'Tis only noble to be good. 

Kind hearts are more than coronets, 

And simple faith, than Norman blood.” 






CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

More Than Coronets 1 

A Prophet in His Own Country 17 

A Cuffless Professor 31 

Mary Farley’s Front 41 

The Loyalty of Number Thirteen 49 

As Stars in Their Places 59 


“MORE THAN CORONETS.” 


“ Guess what has happened at Way land’s, moth- 
er.” 

The pastor of the Northcott Central Church 
turned in his study-chair, and regarded his mother 
with eyes that were twinkling with mischief. 

“Pm sure I know nothing whatever of the hap- 
penings in the Wayland home. Why should I? 
Because Mrs. Wayland is our laundress, and her 
husband cares for your horse, and drives for you, 
you will persist in being interested in their affairs. 
I tell you I have no use for such people, further 
than seeing that they do my work well. We have 
no interests in common. But what particular hap- 
pening could cause your eyes to twinkle so?” and 
Mrs. Van Orden paused for breath, picking up a 
magazine and turning the pages as if the answer 
could have no possible interest for her. 

“Well, it’s only this,” and the pastor paused as 
if to choose his words carefully; “the house of 
Wayland has a son and heir born unto it this day. 
When I went to the stables to order Dexter for my 
afternoon calls, Barney told me the news, and asked 
me to step across the alley and view the wonderful 
personage.” 

“You didn’t go?” gasped the mother. 

“Yes, I went with him. I didn’t go inside. Bar- 
ney brought his son to the door for my inspection 
and approval. He was wrapped in so many folds 


2 


“More Than Coronets” 


of red blanket that he was almost lost, but I got a 
glimpse of a wee, red mortal, with blinking eyes, 
tight-shut fists and a wide mouth. So far as I 
could judge, he looked just like the babies on Aris- 
tocracy Street.” He paused, laughing at the ex- 
pression on his mother’s face, then added : “He had 
a wonderful voice. I shouldn’t be surprised if he 
turned out a minister. Then you and Barney can 
get together and compare notes about the prog- 
ress of your respective sons.” 

Mrs. Van Orden had just returned from a meet- 
ing of the Culture Circle, where she had read a 
lengthy paper, in which she had referred often to 
the masses and the common people, much as one 
would speak of a herd of cattle. The paper had 
been a pronounced success, because every lady 
present could count her ancestors by the dozen, and 
prove beyond the shadow of a doubt that there 
was no common blood in her veins. 

The “Culture Circle” was called the “Blue Blood 
Circle” by some people. These people were not 
members of the circle, however, and did not live on 
Aristocracy Street. It was not really Aristoc- 
racy Street. It was just plain Aristoock Street on 
the town map, but the wealthy people of Northcott 
had built up fine houses along its entire length, 
gradually ousting the poor people, until some wag 
had given it this nickname. 

Mrs. Van Orden stood near her son’s chair, tall 
and straight in her perfectly fitting street costume. 
In fact, you could hardly find an imperfection from 
her crown of beautiful, snow-white hair to the 
sole of her shapely, well-shod feet. People said 


“ More Than Coronets” 


3 


that her son was very like his mother, but, looking 
closely, one could see a kindlier light in his clear 
gray eyes, and where the lines of her mouth were a 
trifle cold and hard, his curved with gentle com- 
passion. 

Presently the mother said in tones quivering 
with indignation: “You didn’t touch the child, I 
hope?” 

“Yes, I took him in my arms and told Barney 
that he was a fine, healthy-looking boy, and so 
heavy. I think the weight was mostly blanket, 
but it pleased Barney so much that he told me the 
baby’s name. You couldn’t guess it in a week, 
mother.” 

“I’m quite sure that I shall not try,” was the stiff 
reply. She had taken off her bonnet now, and 
was straightening out the glittering jet spangles. 

“Well, he named him Rollie Raymond Wayland. 
He said he had always liked a name that ‘sorter 
rhymed.’ I couldn’t see the rhyme, but if Barney 
could, that makes it all right. I hope the little fel- 
low will grow to be a shining light in the world. 
I told Barney so, and his eyes glistened just like 
yours did the day I preached my first sermon.” 

“Don’t talk foolishly, Paul,” she said nervously. 
She had been rolling the ribbon ties of her bonnet, 
ready to pin them and put the bonnet away, but 
when he spoke of the day that had brought such 
pride and happiness into her life, the ribbon 
slipped from her trembling fingers, and unrolled 
its whole shimmering length, as, bending over, she 
kissed the broad, white forehead of the son who 
was her all — her pride, her life. 


4 


“More Than Coronets” 


She felt that such grand things awaited him if 
he would only give up this foolish whim of being 
interested in common people, trying to help them 
in their sorrows, and rejoice with them in their 
times of happiness. She waxed eloquent now, as 
she spoke of Barney’s son. What right had they, 
low-down, common servants, to think that their 
child could ever be anything in the world? Barney 
could scarcely read or write, and poor, simple Mag- 
gie, his wife, knew so much less than Barney that 
she looked up to him in an adoring way that was 
simply disgusting. There ought to be a law prevent- 
ing marriage between such people. What could 
one expect of children born of such parents? They 
would likely grow up to be criminals, or fill the 
almshouses ; they could not possibly be any benefit 
to an already overcrowded world. 

Paul Van Orden listened patiently to all her 
arguments, then quoted gravely from Alice Carey’s 
beautiful poem, where the settler’s wife, looking 
at her babe in the cradle, says : 

“Walls as narrow, and a roof as low, 

Have sheltered a President, yon know.” 

“That was all very well in poetry,” his mother 
replied, but she continued her argument that there 
was no danger of Barney’s roof ever sheltering a 
President, and, for her part, she did not intend to 
go near them, and she did wish that he would not 
talk with such people as if they were his equals. 
She was afraid it would ruin his influence with 
the Central Church if they came to know of his 
associating with the common people. There were 


“ More Than Coronets ” 


5 


plenty of commonplace young preachers to take up 
slum work, because they were unfitted for higher 
things. At last, as if to clinch all that she had 
said, she asked: “What do you suppose Louise 
Lorimer would say if she knew that you had called 
on Barney Way land and held his son in your 
arms?” 

The twinkle in Paul Yan Orden’s eyes blossomed 
into a merry laugh at his mother’s question. Lou- 
ise Lorimer was always the final argument brought 
in by his mother. Judge Lorimer was the wealth- 
iest man in the Central Church, owner of the finest 
residence on Aristocracy Street, and Miss Louise 
was his only child. She was the leading soprano 
in the church choir ; in fact, she was the leader in 
everything she undertook — graceful, beautiful 
Louise, with blue blood enough to satisfy even fas- 
tidious Mrs. Van Orden, who had set her heart on 
having her for a daughter. 

In all her well-laid plans to bring about this 
desire of her heart she had found Paul decidedly 
obstinate. He had heard in the beginning of his 
ministry with the church that Louise Lorimer was 
heartless, and had never taken the trouble to find 
out for himself whether or no the statement was 
true. Usually the mention of her name irritated 
him, but to-day it seemed to amuse him. He threw 
both arms about his mother as he answered, laugh- 
ingly: “She knows all about my call. It seems 
that Maggie is the Lorimers’ laundress, too, and it 
seems that some of Miss Louise’s fancy laundry 
was to have been sent up this morning, but, owing 
to the event, the date was blotted from the Way- 


6 


“More Than Coronets” 


land memory, so she had the coachman drive her 
down to see about it. Of course, Barney had to 
hunt up the laundry work, so he left me standing 
there holding his son. I couldn’t very well dump 
the little fellow on the doorstep, so I held on until 
his father returned. While Barney was gone, his 
son decided to try a few runs in voice culture. He 
had a magnificent voice. Miss Lorimer looked out 
of her carriage to see where the voice came from, 
and when she saw me standing there with my arms 
full of red blanket, she smiled.” 

Thinking of the spectacle he must have made, 
standing at Barney’s door, dressed in clerical at- 
tire ready for afternoon calls, holding Barney’s 
much-beblanketed baby in his arms, he began to 
laugh, and laughed so much like his old boyish 
self, so like her Paul, instead of the Rev. Paul Van 
Orden, that his mother joined in, and laughed until 
the tears ran down her cheeks, and the discus- 
sion of the social problem was over, for that day at 
least. 

And down across the alley, in the little house, 
Barney and Maggie were looking at the wee, red 
mite, and planning for the day when he would 
grow to be a “big preacher, jest like Mr. Paul, bless 
his kind heart.” 

Rollie Raymond Wayland grew in grace, knowl- 
edge, favor and stature, down in the little house 
back of the stately Van Orden residence. He was 
a sturdy little fellow, with a broad, healthy-looking 
face and keen, questioning blue eyes. He seemed 
to realize from the first that much depended on his 
good behavior, so, while Maggie washed and ironed, 


More Than Coronets” 


7 


lie sat contentedly in the old second-hand cab, that 
had been purchased for the purpose of carrying the 
huge baskets of clothes to and from the big houses. 
A little past one year of age he toddled everywhere, 
following Barney to the stables, and it was there 
that Paul Van Orden renewed his acquaintance 
with Barney’s son. On Saturday, when the minis- 
ter was weary from his struggle with the sermon 
for Sunday, it came to be his established custom to 
lay aside his clerical attire and clerical manner, 
and, meeting Barney and the baby on neutral 
ground at the stables, romp for an hour with the 
baby, like some great, overgrown boy, while Barney 
watched them with admiring eyes. 

At eighteen months Rollie Raymond could form 
sentences that were the wonder and delight of his 
parents and Paul Van Orden, who had watched the 
growth of this child with an interest he had never 
shown toward any little one born on Aristocracy 
Street. It may have been because the Aristocracy 
Street children were so hedged about by nurses, 
governesses and parents that he had no opportunity 
to study their characters, and it was different with 
Barney’s and Maggie’s child. 

Maggie said it was wonderful the way Rollie 
Raymond took to Mr. Paul, but it troubled her 
beyond measure that she could not impress on her 
offspring the importance of showing proper respect 
for the minister. Rollie Raymond was not a 
believer in either prefixes or suffixes, as attach- 
ments to his friend’s name, so, in spite of motherly 
chastisement, whenever he caught sight of the min- 


8 


“More Than Coronets ” 


ister he would call out in a shrill baby voice, “Hal- 
lo, Van !” 

The minister would laugh, and toss him in his 
strong arms, as if he liked the simple, heartfelt 
greeting, and Barney, watching with fatherly 
pride, would dream of the day when his son would 
bring honor to the family name of Way land. 

One day Barney brought to the stables a worn 
copy of a Greek text-book, and showed it to Paul 
Van Orden with great solemnity. The minister 
looked at it for a moment, then burst out with: 
“Why, Barney, old fellow, what use will you have 
for this?” and Barney, leaning nearer, answered 
confidentially : “It’s fer the little feller, you know, 
We want him to be a minister like yourself, and 
I knowed he’d have to learn Greek, and seein’ this 
at a second-hand store, marked down cheap, I got 
it to lay away fer him.” And Paul Van Orden, 
seeing the pride in the father’s eyes, checked the 
laugh that rose in his throat, at the thought of the 
odd bargain. 

As time passed, Mrs. Van Orden still maintained 
a rigid reserve toward the Waylands. When she 
caught glimpses of the “little feller,” in his pink 
calico slip, with his tumbled yellow curls gleaming 
in the sunlight as he toddled after Barney, she 
would look another way. But Rollie Raymond did 
not lack friends. 

One day the minister found him seated on a 
peck measure, sucking an orange of huge dimen- 
sions, while he watched his father feed and care 
for the horses. “Tell Mister Van Orden who sends 
you oranges,” said Barney, and Rollie Raymond 


“More Than Coronets” 


9 


answered complacently, between tugs at the 
orange: “Wese.” 

“Did you ever!” said Barney, proudly. “He 
means Miss Louise, but we can’t git him to say all 
of her name no more’n he will yours. Ever’ time 
I take the clothes up, Miss Louise has somethin’ 
nice to send to the little feller ; awful nice she is to 
poor folks, bless her sweet face.” 

The minister turned away, wondering if he had 
misjudged the lovely Miss Lorimer, after all. 
Could it be that her cold, faultless manner was only 
a mask for her better self? 

Bollie Raymond neared his second birthday. 
The hot August days came on, and there were no 
cool breezes in the little house with its low roof, 
and fires kept always burning for either the wash- 
ings or ironings. One day the baby did not toddle 
after Barney to the stables, and when the minister 
came down to ask for him, Barney answered, chok- 
ing back a dry sob of anguish : “The little feller’s 
sick.” 

The best physician in Northcott came to the lit- 
tle house, at the peremptory summons of the Rev. 
Paul Van Orden. All night they battled with the 
death angel. Once the blue eyes looked up with 
their natural light into the face of the minister 
bending over the cradle. A smile passed over the 
little face that had been so drawn with pain, and 
the baby lips murmured: “Van! Hello, Van!” 
Then the blue eyes closed forever, before they had 
ever witnessed life’s toil and strife. 

Paul Van Orden turned away from the cradle 
with a heart almost bursting with sympathy for 


10 


“More Than Coronets ” 


the stricken parents. His mother could not under- 
stand his grief. Three children had been taken 
from homes on Aristocracy Street within the 
month, for death had been no respecter of aristoc- 
racy. The Rev. Van Orden had officiated at each 
of the funerals, offering his sympathy in appropri- 
ate, well-chosen words, but when he held services 
in the little house the prayer seemed to come from 
his heart, and in the simple, comforting talk that 
followed, his mother (whom he had prevailed upon 
to accompany him) felt the tears stealing silently 
down her cheeks. She had never heard her son 
talk like that. 

Maggie had told the minister how Miss Louise 
put the baby’s best white frock on him, had brushed 
the golden curls and placed sweet flowers all about 
his tiny form. Paul had told his mother about 
Miss Lorimer’s kindness, and this had been her 
chief reason for relenting enough toward these 
common people to attend the funeral of their child. 

When the services were over, the casket was 
opened for a last look at the baby form. The little 
hands were dimpled and the cheeks were round, for 
death had come too hurriedly to leave marks of 
suffering. A smile still lingered on the baby lips, 
and the minister, clasping Barney’s and Maggie’s 
hands, stood by the little coffin, his strong, young 
frame shaking with great sobs as he looked at the 
face of his true little friend. 

Mrs. Van Orden was surprised at her son’s lack 
of control, and looked about the room in chagrin, 
but noted with satisfaction that Louise Lorimer 


“More Than Coronets” 


11 


stood sobbing, too, on the other side of the little 
coffin. 

Maggie forgot the indifference with which Mrs. 
Van Orden had treated her baby, and felt only grat- 
itude toward her for her presence at the funeral, 
but Barney remembered and treasured in his heart 
a resentment for every slight that had been shown 
toward “the little feller.” 

After the funeral, Barney and Maggie went 
about their tasks in a hopeless, heart-broken way. 
The little house had lost its light, and it seemed 
for a time that there was nothing left to live for. 

Paul Van Orden’s kindly, helpful words were 
very sweet to them in the long, lonely days filled 
with dull, never-ending toil. 

The autumn and winter dragged slowly by, and 
at last spring came, covering the little mound in 
the cemetery with soft, green carpeting. Barney 
and Maggie spent the Sunday afternoons by the 
side of the little grave, planning to save money to 
purchase a monument. 

It would take a long time, but they could do 
without some things, and there was the little ac- 
count they had started to save for Rollie Ray- 
mond’s education. 

August came. The anniversary of the baby’s 
birth passed, then came the anniversary of his 
death. It was Sunday, and Barney and Maggie 
had spent the afternoon by the little grave. They 
were still planning for the monument, but the 
money came so slowly and it seemed so long to 
wait. 


12 


“More Than Coronets” 


As they came slowly back toward the town, the 
air, which had been dense and sultry all the after- 
noon, became almost unbearable. Low, muttering 
thunder sounded in the west, and the lightning 
flashed again and again over the town. Just as 
they came in sight of the Central Church one 
swift, blinding sheet of lightning played for an in- 
stant about the slender spire, wrapping it in its 
dangerous folds; a deafening crash sounded, and 
flames shot up about the foot of the tower, and over 
the roof. Barney and Maggie ran to get nearer 
the church, and were soon in the midst of an ex- 
cited throng of people. Every one seemed to think 
that some one else had notified the Fire Depart- 
ment, and so no one sent in the alarm. 

The fire was under full headway, and there 
seemed no chance to save the church. Men wrung 
their hands and women sobbed, to see their beau- 
tiful church destroyed, but suddenly a voice pierced 
through all other sounds, as Mrs. Van Orden ran 
wildly down the street, crying : “O my son, my son ! 
He was in his study, and he must be stunned. 
Will no one go for him?” The people burst into 
a wail; they loved their young pastor; but no one 
stirred, for the roof was already beginning to sink. 
Mrs. Van Orden looked imploringly toward the 
crowd of well-dressed men standing helplessly be- 
fore her, then, with a look of scorn, she darted 
across the street toward the church. A dozen 
hands caught and held her, and a dozen voices 
explained that to enter meant certain death. 

Then out from their midst burst Barney. Into 
the church he ran, and was lost from sight in the 


“More Than Coronets 


13 


smoke and flames. The moments seemed hours to 
the waiting crowd, but presently he staggered out 
with the form of their beloved pastor lying uncon- 
scious in his arms. He fell at the steps, overcome 
by the heat, but ready hands carried both uncon- 
scious forms to the opposite side of the street, just 
as the roof fell in with a sickening crash. 


The next day Mrs. Van Orden entered the little 
house for the second time. By her side was her 
son, pale, but unharmed, and her heart was over- 
flowing with gratitude toward Barney, who had 
saved him for her. She carried a well-filled purse 
in her hand, for in what other way could she show 
her gratitude to such people? 

Poor Barney was propped up in bed, his face and 
hands blistered and his hair singed. Mrs. Van 
Orden did not notice, in her anxiety to settle her 
debt, that Louise Lorimer was sitting by Maggie’s 
side, wdth one of Maggie’s hard, rough hands 
clasped closely in her own dainty white ones. 

“Barney,” she began with quivering voice, “Bar- 
ney, what can I do to repay you for what you did 
for me yesterday?” 

She fingered the clasp of her purse nervously, 
and Barney turned his head to hide the look of dis- 
gust and contempt that crept over his face, then 
said: “I’ll have to tell you, I didn’t do it fer you, 
mom ; I done it fer love of Mr. Paul, and in mem’ry 
of the little feller. Mr. Paul was always good to 
me and Maggie, good like we was folks same as he 
was, not like we was animals, as some folks seems 


14 


“More Than Coronets .” 


to think poor folks is, and he was so good to the 
little feller too. Jest a year ago yesterday, he 
stood by the coffin and cried with us, and we 
knowed he loved him too. They ain’t nothin’ too 
hard fer me to undertake fer Mr. Paul,” and his 
voice was lost in a sob. 

Mrs. Van Orden dropped the purse into her lap 
in a shamed way, and wiped the tears from her 
eyes. Presently Barney continued: 

“We was out to the cemetery jest before the fire, 
plannin’ fer his little monument, and talkin’ how 
we’d meant fer his life to be diff’runt from our’n. 
Why, mom, we’d even hoped he’d grow grand and 
noble, and be a minister like your son. I guess 
we’d planned too high. I guess you’d think he 
didn’t have the kind of blood in his veins as makes 
such men as Mr. Paul.” 

The working people all knew about the “Blue 
Blood Circle,” and this was a home thrust. 

“Don’t!” sobbed Mrs. Van Orden. “Don’t say 
such things. What does blood matter? Of all 
those who stood watching death approaching my 
son, not one dared to save him but you. Barney, 
you have the blood of a hero in your veins, and if 
your son had lived he could have been all that my 
son is, or more.” 

As she sank back sobbing in the chair by his bed, 
she reached for Barney’s poor, bandaged hand and 
poured forth her thanks just as she would have 
done had her son’s rescuer been a resident of Aris- 
tocracy Street, and Barney’s eyes glistened with 
honest pride, and his enmity was forgotten. Louise 
Lorimer and Paul Van Orden clasped hands, and 


“More Than Coronets ” 


15 


exchanged one glance that meant more than many 
words could have expressed. 


Mrs. Van Orden has resigned her position as 
president of the Culture Circle. Over her desk 
hangs the motto : 

“ Howe’er it be, it seems to me, 

’Tis only noble to be good. 

Kind hearts are more than coronets, 

And simple faith than Norman blood.” 

Her acquaintances shrug their shoulders, and 
say that she has taken up the fad of slumming, but 
the grateful people whom she has helped look upon 
her as an angel of mercy. 

In the cemetery she has erected over a little 
mound in an obscure corner a snowy monument, 
bearing these words : 

Sacred to the Memory 
of 

ROLLIE RAYMOND WAYLAND, 

SON OF 

Barney and Maggie Wayland. 

Bom August 10, 1896. 

Died August 15, 1898. 

“And Jesus called a little child unto him, and set him in the 
midst of them, and said, Whosoever therefore shall humble him- 
self as this little child, the same is greatest in the kingdom of 
heaven” (Matt, xviii. 2-4). 


A PROPHET in his OWN COUNTRY. 


“Why don’t you go home for Thanksgiving?” 
The question stood out boldly on the printed page 
as the Hon. John Maitland lifted his morning 
paper from the table. 

He read on down the column: “You planned to 
go last year, but something prevented. Why not 
go this year to see the old folks? Just the word 
‘Thanksgiving’ is fraught with memories of the 
golden-tinted days of youth. It calls up visions 
of the old homestead, and we long to revisit the 
scenes of our childhood. Ask your local agent 
about the cut rates. The limit for tickets is thirty 
days. This will give you ample time to see your 
old friends, and to see the old home. Why not go 
now?” 

Ah! it was only a railroad advertisement after 
all. The Hon. John Maitland laid the paper down 
and turned his attention to his breakfast, but some- 
how he did not enjoy it. He swallowed his coffee 
in hasty gulps, and left the table. As he passed 
through the corridors of the hotel, men bowed to 
him obsequiously, and women cast furtive glances 
at the handsome, preoccupied face. 

He passed down the street to his office with the 
question ringing through his brain, “Why not go 
home?” 

The clerks in the office greeted him with marked 
respect ; clearly, he was a great man. Usually the 

17 


18 A Prophet in Eis Own Country . 

homage he received was very gratifying, but to-day 
he scarcely noticed it. He was going back over the 
last fifteen years of his life, back to the time when 
he had come to the new Western town, a mere boy, 
so far as worldly experience went. He had been 
only twenty then, and now, fifteen added to twenty 
— yes, he was thirty-five. He could hardly realize 
that the time had been so long, the years had been 
so full. 

With a fair education, he had worked his way 
up, gradually winning the respect of the people. 
He had studied law outside of his working-hours, 
and had mastered his subject. He had held offices 
of trust in the town, and had been chosen as Sena- 
tor from his district for a term; then had opened 
his office in the town, now grown large and in- 
fluential, and had received a large share of the 
practice. He had invested part of his earnings in 
a new gold mine, the mine had proven very rich, 
and he considered himself a fortunate man. He 
felt sure that few boys w^ould have made of them- 
selves what he had made of himself with so few 
opportunities. He remembered the years of strug- 
gle and of toil vividly. 

He remembered the terrible homesickness and 
longing for his own people. At first he had meant 
to acquire only a competence and then go back 
East. “Why have I not gone sooner ?” he asked 
himself, and his breath came hard as he thought 
of the answer — a woman’s falseness. A blue-eyed 
sweetheart had clung to him at parting, sobbing out 
her vows to be true to him until he came home, 
and he had believed in her as firmly as he believed 


A Prophet in His Own Country. 19 

in God above; but absence had not strengthened 
her love as it had his. In two years she had given 
her heart to his rival, and the home paper had come 
to him with a brilliant account of the wedding. 
He remembered the bitter disappointment that had 
crushed him for months ; then the old ambition had 
returned, not exactly the same ambition either, 
for where once he had worked for love’s sweet sake, 
he toiled now simply for the sake of honor and dis- 
tinction. His labor had been rewarded, but his 
heart had grown cold. The longing for home had 
been thrust in the background. He had written 
home regularly, and had sent generous checks at 
Christmas, but he had never gone for the visit 
he once longed to make. Something in the quaint 
advertisement had touched him as nothing else had 
done for years. The clerks smiled at each other 
as they heard him humming softly, “Old Folks at 
Home.” That night he dreamed of his mother, and 
woke with a feeling that she had really been near 
him. He could feel the touch of her hand on his 
forehead as she had smoothed back his hair, just 
as of old. 

At the breakfast table he opened the morning 
paper and found the same question staring him 
squarely in the eye, “Why not go home for Thanks- 
giving?” He read the advertisement all through, 
and as he came to the last line, “Why not go now?” 
he answered mentally, “I will go.” 

He wondered at his feeling of light-heartedness 
as he walked to the office. He chuckled over the 
shrewdness of the advertiser in getting such a hold 
on his readers; for, surely, if he succumbed so 


20 A Prophet in His Own Country. 

easily, others less strong than he would naturally 
do so. 

After a time he remembered that the advertise- 
ments were written by a boy from his own State; 
in fact, from the adjoining county to the one where 
he was born and reared. The boy had come to him 
asking aid in getting a position; he had secured 
a place for him with a railway company, and then 
had forgotten him. The boy must have been very 
clever to have written such a taking advertisement. 

The Hon. John Maitland decided to look him up. 
He had a vacancy in his own office for just such 
a boy as that. Suddenly the thought came to him 
that the boy had been away from home two years. 
He remembered his own terrible homesickness as 
the second Thanksgiving had approached, and he 
had known that his chair would still be vacant at 
the old home table. The boy was surely homesick, 
and he should go home as he went. Surely there 
was one little corner of the Honorable’s heart that 
had not turned to stone. At noon he entered the 
railroad office, and, walking up to the boy’s desk, 
asked abruptly: “Why not go home for Thanks- 
giving?” 

The boy’s sensitive face quivered and his eyes 
filled, but he asked, with a gleam of humor : “Did 
my advertisement strike you as fetching?” 

“Yes ; so very much so that I’m going home next 
week, and I’m going to take you with me as a re- 
ward for reminding me that I ought to go. I want 
you to be ready to start on the 15th. I have made 
all arrangements with your employer; it is all 
right, and your time goes on just the same.” 


A Prophet in His Own Country . 21 

The boy’s face fairly glowed with delight, and he 
caught the firm, white hand lying on his shoulder 
in a grip that made the big man wince. 

The days that followed were busy ones for the 
Hon. John Maitland. He wrote home of his in- 
tended visit, his business had to be adjusted for the 
month’s absence, and his clients notified of his in- 
tentions. Many protests were made about his leav- 
ing for so long a time, but only one had any weight, 
and that was just a silent, regretful glance from 
the gray eyes of his friend, Miss May. She had 
been his friend for a long time ; in fact, she was the 
first girl he had known well after coming to the 
Western town. She had taught in the schools all 
these years, being promoted from the small frame 
building of fifteen years ago to one of the elegant 
new buildings of the present time. They had been 
such good comrades. She had been a sympathetic 
listener to all his plans, and had rejoiced with him 
in his success. He had often wondered why some 
man had not found out her virtues and taken her 
from the drudgery of teaching, but the thought had 
always brought a tinge of dislike for the probable 
man. 

When he came to the packing of his trunk, he 
looked with pride at his handsome clothing, con- 
trasting it with the best suit which he had worn 
when he came West. In the bottom of his trunk 
he packed his oldest suit; it might be useful to 
wear if he went hunting, and the soft felt hat in 
the hat-box would do to wear with it. His travel- 
ing-suit, made in the latest style, showed off his 
fine form to advantage, and the shining silk hat 


22 A Prophet in His Own Country . 

that graced his handsome head left no doubt as to 
his right to be called Honorable. 

The long days of travel drew to a close. The 
man and the boy had become fast friends during 
the journey. The boy was looking forward joy- 
fully to the glad home-coming, and the man was 
thinking of the effect his elegance, wealth and high 
standing would have on the people who had known 
him as a poor boy. 

As they neared their journey’s end, the man made 
a careful toilet, slowly brushed his silk hat, and 
threw back his shoulders proudly. The boy 
watched him with a frown on his fair face. 

When the train drew up with a rattle and a 
shriek at the little station it seemed to the Honor- 
able that half the countryside had gathered to do 
him honor ; but when he stepped from the platform 
not a hat was lifted. The crowd made a rush for 
him, and hearty cries of “Hello, Jack!” “How are 
you, Jack?” and “Jack, old feller, how you’ve 
growed !” filled the air. The hearty country greet- 
ings jarred on his sensitive nerves, and he turned 
to look for his father. 

Ah! that white-haired man with the stooped 
shoulders — how he had broken ! But the voice was 
just the same as he welcomed his broad-shouldered 
son. They hurried away through the crowd, and 
the people forgave them for hurrying. “Jack w r as 
in a hurry to see his mother ; he always was a great 
mother boy,” they said kindly. 

Mother was standing in the door. Her face was 
framed in white hair, too, but the same mother 
love beamed from it that he remembered so well. 


A Prophet in His Own Country. 23 

No awe of fine clothes kept her from clasping him 
to her heart that had longed so for his coming. 
His sister, grown plump and matronly, stood wait- 
ing with her husband and children to welcome him. 
The children were anxious to see this wonderful 
“Uncle Jack” of whom they had heard so much. 
The oldest child (his namesake), aged ten, eyed 
him with approval, deciding that some day he 
would wear a tall hat, too. In the meantime, he 
meant to try on this one at the earliest opportunity. 

The family all talked at once, asking the Honor- 
able questions and telling him all the news of the 
past fifteen years. His head ached from traveling, 
and after an early supper he pleaded fatigue and 
went up the stairway to his old room. The wind 
whistled shrilly through the cracks around the win- 
dows, and rattled the loose shingles of the old 
roof. He shivered as he crept into the cold bed 
and thought of his elegant steam-heated apart- 
ments in the Western hotel. 

He could hear his father and mother talking in 
the sitting-room below. Finally he heard his 
mother saying, in an apologetic tone: “He was so 
tired, father, that he just forgot ; he’ll be all righrt 
in the morning and be like himself, I know he will.” 

He listened keenly now. He heard his father 
read a lesson from the Bible; he had forgotten the 
family worship. He listened to his father’s prayer, 
so full of thanksgiving for the dear son’s return, 
and a sense of shame swept over him. 

Long after the clock was wound, the fire covered, 
and the light put out downstairs, the Honorable 
lay awake battling with his pride. He thought of 


24 A Prophet in His Own Country. 

the years of toil and struggle to gain honor and 
wealth, so that he might come back and get even 
with the world. 

There was old Squire Portland, who had held 
the mortgage on the old home farm; his feelings 
were bitter toward him. It was the Squire, with 
his threats of foreclosure, that had hurried him out 
in the world away from all that he held dear. He 
had hoarded his savings until there was enough to 
pay off the mortgage, but the grudge that he owed 
the proud, stingy old man had never been paid. 
There was the sweetheart who had deserted him 
for his rival ; how he had longed to flaunt his wealth 
in their faces! He had longed to show to all the 
little village his superiority, but his mother’s voice 
kept ringing in his ears : “He’ll be all right in the 
morning and be like himself.” 

“Like himself?” What did his mother mean — 
what had he really been like fifteen years ago? 
Little by little, memory turned her pages for him, 
and he saw the merry, light-hearted boy, a general 
favorite in the neighborhood. A strong worker 
in the church, the best singer in the singing-school, 
a leader in all of the winter evening festivities of 
the country place, a father’s right hand, a mother’s 
comfort, a sister’s pride. He looked at the pictures 
of the healthy, happy boy, then looked at his later 
self, and shuddered as he realized how he had 
changed to a cold, calculating man of the world. 
It came over him now that all of the honor 
showered upon him in the Western town was trib- 
ute paid to his wealth. 


A Prophet in His Oxen Country. 25 

At last he had fought the battle, and his better 
self had wou. He would get up in the morning 
and do all in his power to atone for the past; he 
would be like his own true self once more. 

He fell into peaceful sleep, and was awakened 
in the gray dawn by his father calling, “Jack! O 
Jack! time to get up, son.” 

He searched in the trunk for the old suit, and 
found that it looked quite genteel. As he went 
through the kitchen he gave his mother a hug — a 
genuine, old-fashioned hug — and she looked up 
from her work in pleased surprise. When he 
plunged his face and hands into the tin pan of icy 
water at the well, he chuckled to himself as he 
thought of the pampered fellow out West who 
pressed a button for warm water on mornings like 
this. It was hard to be one’s self when one had 
to go back fifteen years to do it ; but when the Hon- 
orable set his head to do a thing, he gave all his 
attention to making a success of it. 

By night he felt that he was making good head- 
way. He had shaken hands with all of the vil- 
lagers; he had visited the village blacksmith, and 
had asked him to play all the old tunes on his 
fiddle, that he remembered hearing him play long 
ago. The old fiddler was delighted with his mem- 
ory, especially so as he had learned no new pieces 
to play. He had visited the village store and 
laughed at the same old jokes he had heard when 
a boy. He had hunted up the three men who had 
formed with himself the village quartette. The 
second tenor (his brother-in-law now) and the two 
bassos were all staid married men, busy with their 


26 A Prophet in His Otvn Country. 

corn-husking, but his enthusiasm stirred their slug- 
gish blood, and they promised to come in of even- 
ings and practice up the old songs. 

After supper, his mother said: “Jack, take a 
basket and a lamp and get you some apples from 
the warm-house. You was always great for hav- 
ing apples every night.” 

In the old warm-house, things were unchanged 
by the lapse of time. Over in the southwest corner 
was the bin of Prior Reds, in the southeast corner 
the Rhode Island Greenings, on the south side were 
the rows of canned fruit, and the huge jar that 
was always filled in the fall with sauerkraut, and 
on the north side was the bin of Golden Pippins. 
As his teeth crushed into the cheek of one of these, 
his favorites, he gave a sigh of delight such as he 
had not given over any of the rich finds of his gold 
mine. At bedtime he took the Bible from the stand 
and read the evening lesson, and tears of joy stood 
in his mother’s eyes. 

As the days rolled by, he slipped into the old 
grooves gradually, and from doing things from a 
sense of duty, he came to enjoy doing them. 

As it neared Thanksgiving he felt the old boyish 
delight in the preparations. He practised Thanks- 
giving music with the quartette of evenings, he 
stemmed raisins for the mince meat, and cut up 
pumpkin ready to stew, all with a checked apron 
tied around his neck, much to the delight of the 
small nephew and niece, who came over to watch 
operations. He found that his mother was fatten- 
ing two pullets for the dinner, and he immediately 
set them free ; then, taking his mother by the shoul- 


A Prophet in His Own Country . 27 

ders, he asked, “Mother, why do yon skimp and save 
so? Haven’t I sent you plenty of money?” and she 
answered timidly, “You’ve been awful good and 
generous, Jack, but we’re looking out for the time 
when we won’t be able to work, and we’ve tried to 
save all we could.” 

“Mother — mother !” he cried, in genuine distress, 
“did you think I would ever see you want for any- 
thing? Why, mother, I’m a rich man, and I will 
take good care of you,” and he turned away with a 
choke in his voice as he thought of his own lux- 
urious living. 

Half an hour later, he came dashing in to tell 
his mother that he was going out to get his Thanks- 
giving turkey. “Do you remember the time when 
I shucked corn all day for Uncle Jim Parsons to 
get our Thanksgiving turkey, and then he gave me 
the meanest little turkey in the whole drove?” he 
asked. “Well, I said then that some day I would 
go out there with my money and buy the biggest 
turkey he had, and now I’m going.” And he 
started with his nephew for the tramp across the 
fields. He came back with a huge gobbler across 
his shoulder, panting from his unwonted exertion, 
but happy as a boy over his bargain. 

The day before Thanksgiving his father came 
in with a troubled look on his usually calm face. 
The news had come that Squire Portland and his 
wife were to be taken to the poor-house on the 
morrow. 

The Squire’s boys had been reckless fellows and 
had squandered all their father’s money. The old 
home place had been mortgaged, and now that the 


28 A Prophet in His Own Country. 

mortgage had been foreclosed they had no place 
to go. 

A month before, the Honorable would have 
smiled grimly and said, “It serves the mean old fel- 
low right,” but it was different now. The spirit 
of Thanksgiving was in his heart, and it seemed 
a dreadful thing to lose one’s home on that blessed 
day. 

Before night the mortgage was paid off, and the 
Honorable forgave the stingy old Squire as he saw 
him grasp the paper with trembling hands, trying 
to read the blessed reprieve through tear-dimmed 
eyes, then he hurried away to escape their thanks. 

On Thanksgiving morning his mother asked anx- 
iously, “You remember Clarinda?” Remember 
her ! The dark eyes clouded at the name that had 
not been mentioned since his return. 

His mother hurried on : “Word has just come 
that Jake’s got his leg broke at the mill. They’re 
awful poor and hard run, and I wondered if you’d 
mind to carry them some of our Thanksgiving din- 
ner. They live out on the old Bartley place.” 

The Honorable swallowed the last remnant of 
his pride and said that he didn’t mind. He carried 
the well-filled basket across the fields to the cabin, 
and when he saw the poor wreck of manhood on 
the bed he forgave his rival. He watched the 
faded, slatternly woman who talked to him in a 
shrill voice. Could this be the blue-eyed girl he 
had loved? He contrasted her with a gentle, 
sweet-voiced woman in a far-away Western town, 
and then he forgave his old sweetheart. 


A Prophet in His Own Country. 29 

He hurried back to the Thanksgiving service in 
the little church. 

He sang Thanksgiving hymns with the quartette, 
and after the older men had talked, he stood up 
and poured forth all his thankfulness for being 
allowed to come home to find his old friends un- 
changed toward him. He had the reputation of 
being an eloquent speaker, and he never spoke bet- 
ter than he did that day. Eyes grew dim in the 
old church as they listened to the voice they loved. 

After the services came the dinner — but why try 
to describe it? It was just a genuine old-fashioned 
Thanksgiving dinner, with none of the family miss- 
ing. After dinner, the old neighbors came in and 
there were songs and games. In the midst of the 
merriment a shrill cry from an upper room sent 
grandma flying up the stairs, followed by Uncle 
Jack. In the center of the room lay the remains 
of the silk hat, and the excited namesake told of 
its downfall. “I just — just thought I — I — would 
try it on, to see how Fd look when I get big like 
Uncle Jack, and when I took it off and laid it on 
the floor a minute Sissy set down on it, and it 
smashed, and I won’t ever wear an old thing like 
that ; I’ll have one what won’t smash.” Uncle Jack 
laughed until tears stood in his eyes, then carried 
the frightened little girl downstairs on his shoul- 
der. 

The happy days rolled by and his time was up. 
He was waiting at the little station for the train, 
and his friends crowded round him. He had prom- 
ised his mother to come next Thanksgiving, and 
he had promised himself that he would not come 


30 A Prophet in His Own Country. 

alone, if a little schoolteacher could be persuaded 
to give up her work for his sake, and he felt very 
hopeful of his powers of persuasion. 

As the train came rattling in and slowed up, 
every one seemed to be trying to shake his hands 
at the same time. After he entered the coach, the 
three-fourths of the quartette he was leaving be- 
hind came close to the open car-window and sang 
“Auld Lang Syne,” and as the train pulled out the 
crowd seemed to shout all together, “Good-by, 
Jack! take care of yourself!” 

Turning from the window, the Honorable found 
the boy standing by his side smiling, and he said 
huskily, “A prophet may be without honor in his 
own country, but he is not without love.” 


A CUFFLESS PROFESSOR. 


There was a vacancy in the Brantford schools, 
with thirteen applicants — an unlucky number, the 
school board decided after they had voted for an 
hour, and were no nearer a decision than in the 
first ballot. 

In the pause for rest, Dr. Andrews, president 
of the board, said : “By the way, I just happened to 
think of a letter that I have in my pocket. I’d like 
to read it to you ; it is from a brother practitioner 
who lives in a little town down in the country, tell- 
ing about one of his friends who is moving up here 
for the benefit of his wife’s health. He says : ‘If it 
is ever possible for you to do the man a favor, do 
it by all means. I had thought it might be possible 
that some day there would be a vacancy in the 
ranks of your aristocratic school. My friend is 
especially fine in government of boys, having strong 
influence over them. He is honest as the day is 
long, or, I might say, he is as honest as he is long ; 
it would mean just as much, for he is a great six- 
footer, but his brilliant mind towers above his 
height until he would be a valuable addition to even 
such a school as yours. If you can ever do him 
a favor, I am sure he would appreciate it, as would 
also your friend and brother — ’ 

“There it is,” Dr. Andrews remarked, as he 
folded the letter up and replaced it in his pocket. 
“I had almost forgotten the fellow, but I’m half 


32 


A Cuffless Professor . 


a mind to run him in as a dark horse against all 
these high-school misses,” waving his hand at the 
crumpled ballots that strewed the floor. “We 
could give as our excuse, that we needed a man on 
account of the government of the room. Pm sure 
that my nephew needs him, and he is said to be 
the leader in that room. I believe my nephew has 
the name of being rather high-spirited.” 

The members of the school board all silently 
agreed that Jack Andrews, the nephew and especial 
pet of their president, needed something to quell 
the high spirits that had been the despair of every 
teacher from the baby room up. It had been risky 
business to try to govern the boy who bore the 
sobriquet “The school board’s nephew,” for it was 
generally understood that Dr. Andrews (to use a 
slang phrase) was “the whole thing,” and that 
when he recommended a teacher, said teacher was 
sure of a position. 

The outcome of the board meeting for the selec- 
tion of a teacher to fill the vacancy, was the ap- 
pointment of Professor Cupples, from the back 
country district. 

This timely good fortune fell like a blessing from 
above into the professor’s little home, and the in- 
valid wife wept tears of thankfulness that her tal- 
ented husband would escape the factory work for 
which he had made application, and would be in 
his own element ; but, alas for her fond hopes ! the 
professor from the back district was not in his 
element. 

When he stood at his desk to greet the children 
on the first morning of school, he realized that he 


A Cuffless Professor . 


33 


liad never met children like them, and the children 
were quick to perceive that he was not of Brant- 
ford circles. It was Jack Andrews, Jr., who dis- 
covered that the new instructor wore a queer bow 
tie, and he whispered audibly, “Get onto the shoo- 
fly.” This set the pace for the entire room, and 
criticism was the order of the days from thence- 
forth. 

When the professor stood up to read a morning 
lesson in his thoughtful, earnest way, the embryo 
artists in the room made sketches of his lengthy 
form, others noted that his pants were too short 
and not properly creased, and still others saw the 
shiny streaks across the back of the coat that had 
done service as Sunday best for a long time. 

The climax was reached one day when Jack An- 
drews noticed that the professor did not wear 
cuffs. In writing upon the blackboard, his great, 
brown hands and sinewy wrists escaped from the 
short coat sleeves, and made themselves generally 
conspicuous. 

Jack passed a note around the room that created 
much amusement ; on it was written the one word, 
“Cuffless.” 

In a few days it occurred to Jack’s fertile brain 
that the name “Cupples” and the word “cuffless” 
were very similar in sound. So he dubbed his 
teacher “Professor Cuffless,” and the name stuck, 
as such names have a trick of doing. 

The days that followed were trying ones to the 
teacher, especially so as he kept all the worries 
locked in his own heart, away from the invalid wife. 


34 


A Cuffless Professor . 


The children were only thoughtless, but oh, how 
thoughtlessness can hurt a sensitive soul ! 

When the school board came to hear of some 
of the pranks that were played in Room 6, Dr. An- 
drews shook his head, saying, “Pm afraid it was a 
mistake, putting that man in; the children will 
never obey any one for whom they have no feeling 
of respect, and the idea of a professor without 
cuffs — ” He paused there as if nothing could be 
said in favor of such a man. 

One day Sammy Johnson, who lived next door to 
the professor, called his crowd aside and confided 
the joke of the season. “Boys, what do you think !” 
he said. “Professor Cuffless does housework, cooks 
and scrubs and does things of nights, for I’ve seen 
him at it. Say, s’pose you fellows come over after 
dark to-night, and we’ll slip over our back fence 
and watch him at work in the kitchen.” 

This proposal met with ready assent, and that 
night a line of boys crept over Sammy’s back fence, 
slipped noiselessly near the kitchen window, and 
beheld the professor with his big, awkward hands 
embedded in — dough. It was so very amusing that 
it was almost impossible to keep from laughing 
aloud, but they watched while he prepared the sup- 
per according to instructions given by a pale little 
woman who sat near the table. It was not a very 
elaborate meal that the professor prepared, but the 
two partook of it cheerfully, then after the meal 
the professor gathered the little woman up in his 
arms, as if she had been a child, and carried her 
into the sitting-room. The boys felt rather uncom- 
fortable; they had not known that the professor’s 


A Cuffless Professor . 


35 


wife could not walk. They watched him clear away 
the supper things and wash the dishes, then he 
stretched a line across the room near the stove, and, 
taking some wet clothing from a basket, he shook 
out the pieces and hung them up to dry. It was 
wearing apparel, and the professor had washed it. 

The boys crept out silently; it did not seem so 
funny as they had imagined it would. They were 
sorry they had promised to make cartoons of the 
professor at work, for the benefit of those who 
could not go with them. For several days there 
was such a pronounced change in the room that the 
professor grew hopeful of better things, but youth- 
ful hearts forget easily, and they soon returned to 
the old spirit of criticism and fun-making. 

Jack Andrews, Jr., carried home the funny 
sketches, and told funny stories about his new in- 
structor, and his uncle tried to be severe, but al- 
ways ended by laughing at them and blaming the 
professor for the lack of respect shown him. 

The winter was a hard one, and the professor 
grew thin and pale from working to control the 
room, and trying to win the good will of the chil- 
dren. At the beginning of the school year he had 
hoped to do such good work that it would make 
his services in demand for another year, but, as the 
days went by, he relinquished that hope, and now 
only hoped that at the very last the children would 
realize that he had tried to help them and to be 
their friend. 

One morning near the end of the school year, a 
group of boys gathered about Sammy Johnson 
while he told them how his mother had found out 


36 


A Cuffless Professor. 


the reason that the professor did the housework. 
They were saving every penny so that his wife 
could go to the hospital for an operation. They 
were hoping that she would be able to walk if the 
operation was successful, but it was so very ex- 
pensive that it would take the savings of years to 
have it done, so it was hard times in the professor’s 
home. Then Jack Andrews, who had fidgeted un- 
easily all through this confidence, told his piece of 
news. He had overheard his uncle telling his 
mother that Professor Cupples would lose his place 
in the schools because the children had no respect 
for him, and that Room 6 had not been doing well 
under his direction. There was to be a principal 
at the East building, and the teacher of the seventh 
room was to have this position in connection with 
his other work, and with fifteen dollars on the 
month more salary than Professor Cupples re- 
ceived. He had heard his uncle mention the name 
of Professor Smithers. 

At the name of Professor Smithers, indignation 
burst forth, and exclamations of, “Not respect Pro- 
fessor Cupples ! Indeed we do “It’s a mean old 
shame to turn him out when he’s down on his luck 
“He’s worth a dozen of that dude of a Smithers,” 
filled the air. 

After a tirade of angry words against the school 
board, they turned against their leader, and Sammy 
Johnson had the support of the entire crowd when 
he said: “It’s all your fault, Jack Andrews, and 
you know it. You commenced it; you made fun 
of him the very first day, and the rest of us were 
fool enough to follow you. You’ve gone and done 


A Cuffless Professor . 


37 


it this time with your smartness, getting a good 
man out of a job and getting a no-’count one in. 
Hope you’ll feel satisfied when you get a teacher 
with plenty of cuffs and no brains. We’d all ’a’ 
liked him all the time if you’d ’a’ behaved ; he’s the 
smartest teacher we ever had, and I just wish he 
could ’a’ been promoted with us and ’a’ got that 
extra money; and we’ll miss him next year when 
we get over into hard work, and nobody with any 
brains to explain things, and we might ’a’ had him 
if you’d ’a’ let us alone.” Here he paused for 
breath, and Jack looked sullen for a moment, then 
his better self came to the front, and he said in a 
humble tone, a tone that none of them had ever 
heard him use before: 

“I’m as sorry as I can be, and I’ll make it right 
if you’ll all stand by me. I’ve been thinking about 
getting up a petition, and having everybody in the 
room sign it, and take it to the board meeting; 
they’re going to meet to-night, I heard Uncle Jack 
say so.” 

This speech was greeted by three rousing cheers, 
and Jack neglected his first lesson to prepare a 
document that read as follows : 

We, the undersigned, request that Professor Cupples be 
promoted to Room 7 with us next year, and that he be made 
principal of the building with some more salary, because of his 
wife’s health, so he won’t have to work so hard at home ; and 
we want it understood that we all respect him, and we know he 
is the best teacher we have ever had, and we need him awful 
bad next year to help us pull through when we get where it’ s 
hard to understand things. 

This document might not have been considered a 
success from a legal standpoint, but it voiced the 


38 


A Cuffless Professor . 


sentiment of the entire room, as was proven by the 
list of names written underneath long before night. 

That night, when the board met, the first business 
was the discussion of the needs of the East school, 
and it was decided that a principal was needed, one 
to whom the other teachers could go in the absence 
of the superintendent, reporting all unruly cases to 
him. It was further decided that this position be 
given to the teacher who would have charge of 
Room 7, giving said teacher an increase of salary. 

The name of Professor Cupples was mentioned, 
but Dr. Andrews made a very decided speech against 
such promotion. “It would never do to promote 
him to Room 7,” he said, “because he would then 
have charge of the same children that had been in 
Room 6, and he has forfeited the respect of the en- 
tire room by his careless attire.” The president of 
the board closed his speech by proposing the name 
of a dudish little fellow who always wore the latest 
cut of fashion, and parted his hair exactly in the 
middle. 

There was hesitation for a time in the meeting, 
and it seemed for once that Dr. Andrews was not 
the entire board. Then right into the midst of the 
room trooped a crowd of excited boys, headed by 
Jack Andrews, Jr., who laid the petition down on 
the table in front of his uncle. The board watched 
this proceeding with astonishment, then Dr. An- 
drews, thinking it some mischievous prank, re- 
quested his nephew to take his friends and himself 
from the room, immediately. 

Jack Andrews felt no fear of the school board’s 
president, and proceeded to make his speech. He 


A Cuffless Professor . 


39 


had been all day preparing a masterful effort, but 
in the excitement of the moment it all left him, and 
he burst out in boy fashion : “I say, us fellers want 
this stopped, and there’s our petition to stop it. 
We want it understood right now that we never re- 
spected anybody any more’n we do Professor Cup- 
pies, and we ain’t any sort of use for that dude of a 
Smithers; why, with all his style, he can’t hold a 
candle to our professor, and it’s a shame for you 
to turn a man down when he’s having hard luck; 
he’s done the best work anybody ever done here, 
and you all know it. W 7 e’re all ashamed of the 
way we’ve acted ; I’m more ashamed than the rest, 
for I started it; it ain’t his fault that the room’s 
done bad, and we’ll make it right, if you’ll only let 
us keep him; we want to show him we’ve enough 
sense to appreciate a good thing when we see it, 
and he’s a regular good one, I’ll tell you. As for 
cuffs” — here he glared at his uncle as if he had 
been the offender who had started the nickname for 
the professor — “d’ you think for a minute, Uncle 
Jack, that you’d find time to be so persnickety, and 
always wear ’em, if you had to wash dishes and 
wash clothes, and — and — mix dough?” 

With this parting thrust at his fastidious rela- 
tive, Jack Andrews, Jr., concluded his first speech 
in public, but it is to be hoped it will not be his 
last, for certainly such boldness in telling the truth 
without sparing one’s self, would be a valuable 
acquisition in affairs of state. 

When the boys had left the room, the members 
of the board stared at each other for a moment, 
then Dr. Andrews broke into a fit of uncontrollable 


40 


A Guffless Professor. 


mirth that proved contagious. After this gale of 
merriment had swept away all formality from the 
meeting, they read the petition, signed by every 
grimy, boyish hand in the room. 

A consultation followed, during which one mem- 
ber of the board suggested that the yielding to the 
request made in the petition would be establishing 
a bad precedent; the boys might demand the pro- 
fessor’s promotion on through high school, but this 
suggestion was promptly quenched by Dr. An- 
drews, who proposed that it would be only fair to 
give the fellow another trial, and the others, hav- 
ing favored this plan secretly all the time, yielded 
gracefully. 

A week later, the letter-carrier stopped at the 
professor’s door and handed in a long, white en- 
velope. The professor’s hand trembled when he 
broke the seal, and he read with wondering eyes 
the notice of his promotion and appointment to the 
new position, then the petition with its many signa- 
tures fell out of the envelope into his wife’s lap. 
They read it all over together, and she said, with a 
glad, sweet ring in her voice, “Oh, my dear, my 
dear, I knew they would appreciate your work.” 

The professor knelt by her chair, and laid his 
face in her lap to hide the tears that were rolling 
down his cheeks, and his invalid wife never guessed 
how very hard the year had been for him. And 
Professor Smithers never guessed how nearly he 
came to occupying the position still held in peace 
and honor by a cuffless professor. 


MARY FARLEY’S FRONT. 


“I just couldn’t begin to tell you, Matilda, what 
a comfort it’s been to me all these years. When 
things go wrong I just set down and begin to plan 
for it, and seems like before I know it I forget all 
my troubles. When I’m ’specially blue I plan for a 
grate. You know I don’t ever expect to have that, 
but seems like I can just see it with a bright, 
sparkly fire burnin’ in it of chill evenin’s when I 
come in from my fall housecleanin’, with a rockin’- 
chair on one side the grate, and Solomon on a cush- 
ion on t’other side. Of course, I couldn’t afford 
the chair or the cushion either, but I just like to 
plan for it. Can’t you just seem to see the new 
front now, when we look back toward the house?” 

The two women were standing at a gate that 
opened into a trim little yard, and midway the 
yard stood a queer little house, just two rooms, 
with the roof sloping toward the back, the door set 
to one side to make room for the prospective front, 
leaving a blank space that was dismal enough to 
look at with all the imaginings of its cheerful 
owner. One of the wealthy women for whom Mary 
Farley worked, knowing the history of the blank 
wall, told her of the Italian custom of finishing 
the houses as best they could, then painting the 
front with fancy windows and stately columns to 
express the ideal they could not reach. Mary Far- 
ley had said laughingly: “I couldn’t do that; my 


42 


Mary Farley’s Front. 


blank wall wouldn’t hold my ideal ; and, besides, I 
like to change it sometimes, and if I pictured it all 
out with paint I couldn’t do it.” 

She was picturing it now to her closest friend, 
the one who understood all the weary struggle, and 
knew how the plans for the new front had been 
made over and over, only to be laid aside again for 
years for the sake of some one else in trouble. The 
four little graves and the one long one, out in the 
poorer part of the cemetery, told of the apprentice- 
ship that Mary Farley had served to Sickness and 
Sorrow; small wonder that she knew so well how 
to comfort and care for others. 

“I want a small window there on the west,” she 
continued, “and a door here on the east, with a lit- 
tle veranda over it and that other door, and in 
front I want one of them great, big windows to 
let in the south light, so’s I can have plants in the 
winter. I’ve always heard, count a hundred dol- 
lars to the room, and I’ve saved eighty -nine dollars 
and sixty-five cents ; got it in the savings-bank this 
minute. I just get real excited when I think how 
near I am to it ; seems like it’s just too good to be 
true.” 

“Well, you deserve it, just as nice a room as ever 
was built, if ever anybody deserved anything,” was 
her neighbor’s warm reply, as they separated for 
the night. 

The next day, Mary Farley called to her neigh- 
bor across the back fence: “I’ve had a letter, Ma- 
tilda, and Aunt Sophiar out in Illinoy has fell and 
broke her hip, and they’ve sent for me to come and 
nurse her. The letter had laid in the post-office a 


Id ary Farley’s Front. 


43 


week; I don’t go often, not expectin’ anything, so 
I’ve got to get ready and start to-day.” 

Matilda Brown bustled over to help her neighbor 
get ready : she had pressed out the one best dress 
and was helping to pack a few things in the valise, 
but paused to ask suddenly, with well-meant in- 
quisitiveness : “How much did they send you to 
come on, Mary?” 

Mary Farley started, and her face flushed as she 
answered slowly : “They didn’t send anything, Ma- 
tilda; they’re awful hard run and they couldn’t. 
I’ve — I’ve got enough to take me there and back, 
and buy the things she’ll need while she has to lay 
there, pore old dear.” 

“You don’t mean that you’ll use the money 
again — that you’ve saved for your front?” Matilda 
Brown gasped. 

“Yes, it will have to go; now, don’t you say a 
word. Aunt Sophiar raised me and done the best 
she could by me, and I don’t begrudge her a cent of 
it, but I’ve give up my front forever. I’ll have to 
stay out there a good long spell, and that will lose 
me all my washings ; then it will be too late when I 
get back to get any of the fall house-cleanin’s to do, 
and, besides, I’m gettin’ too old to ever work again 
like I have done, and it took a long time to save it 
this last time.” 

She turned toward the glass and tied her bonnet 
on hurriedly, as if afraid that her courage might 
fail her after all. Matilda Brown wiped her eyes 
vigorously on her apron as she stood with her 
back to her friend; she did not try to argue the 
case; she had known Mary Farley too long. She 


44 


Mary Farley’s Front. 


gathered up the valise and carried it out to the gate. 
Mary Farley locked her door and gave the key into 
her friend’s keeping, then, shaking hands, they 
parted. 

Mary Farley went slowly down the street, stop- 
ping at every gate to say good-by to the neighbors 
who came out to see her off. One child offered to 
take her valise to the station in his express wagon, 
and a half-dozen others almost fought for the priv- 
ilege of helping draw it. The men coming from 
their work stopped for a word with her, and it 
was the sight of the men in their working-clothes, 
carrying their tools, that put a sudden bright idea 
into Matilda Brown’s head. She watched until 
Mary Farley was out of sight, then, hastening down 
the street, asked at every house for the people to 
come to Mary Farley’s front yard after supper, for 
she had something important to talk over with 
them. 

They came in a wondering crowd, these hard- 
working men and women, filling the little yard 
full, and Matilda Brown’s courage almost failed 
her, but she swallowed the lump in her throat and 
began by saying: 

“Neighbors, you all know how Mary Farley’s 
been lookin’ forward to buildin’ a front to her 
house, all these years.” 

Her hearers nodded eagerly. 

“Well,” she continued, “she’s give it up.” 

A look of consternation spread over the faces in 
her audience. 

“You all know how many times it’s been post- 
poned, and why; she’s used the money time and 


Mary Farley’ s Front . 


45 


again to help others in trouble and sickness. A 
big part of us owes our lives and our happiness to 
her. They’s not a fam’ly here that has not turned 
to her for help at some time, and she never failed 
you. She’s used the money this time to take her 
out to that aunt of hers, and to buy the things her 
aunt will need, and she says she’s too old to ever 
try to raise the hundred again. Now I want to tell 
you my idee. We’re goin’ to build that front for 
Mary Farley, to show her that we appreciate what 
she has done for us, and we must have it done when 
she comes home in the fall. We’ve not got much 
money, any of us, but there’s hours of time we can 
give, and we’ll do it, won’t we, neighbors?” 

A hearty chorus of approval closed this speech, 
the first and last public speech ever made by Ma- 
tilda Brown. 

It was a busy summer that followed, the men 
working after hours, and the women helping with 
encouraging words. There was less quarreling than 
ever before on that street, for all their interests 
centered in the little front room. The people vied 
with each other in their donations of building ma- 
terial, and spent many an evening planning the 
work to make it all come out to the best advantage. 

Jack Brown, the stalwart carpenter, remembered 
the time when he had lain for weeks with a broken 
limb, and the money saved for the front had helped 
them through. He had always meant to pay it 
back some time, but with so many mouths to fill 
it was hard work to have anything left over to pay 
old debts. He worked early and late now, putting 
up the frame of the front room, and he said that he 


46 Mary Farley’s Front. 

never drove nails in timber with such relish in his 
life before. 

Bill Smook, the plasterer, did the best work of 
his life in finishing the snowy walls, remembering 
the time when his wife had been nursed back to life 
by Mary Farley’s gentle hands after the physicians 
had said that there was no hope. 

Every one of them had some part in the work, 
and it was the happiest time in all their pinched, 
hard-worked lives when the little room stood com- 
plete, with its big south window, and, best of all, 
a grate to hold the sparkly fire of cold evenings. 

There came a surprise for them all when a dray 
stopped at the gate one day, and the drayman car- 
ried in a bright, new carpet, a center-table and a 
beautiful rocking-chair. They had not dreamed of 
furnishing the room, but Dick Johnson had. Dick 
was one of the causes of the postponement. He 
had been a delicate boy, a great one for books, the 
neighbors said, not able to do rough work like the 
other boys, so the money saved for the front had 
given him a course in a business college and now 
he held a good position downtown. He had paid 
the money back long ago, and it had gone to help 
some one else, but this donation was part payment 
of his debt of gratitude, Dick said. 

The women made the carpet and tacked it on the 
floor, with never an envious feeling at thought of 
their own bare floors. The children saved their 
pennies until they had enough to buy a big, bright 
picture for the wall. Matilda Brown’s little crip- 
pled girl pieced a wonderful cushion out of bits of 
all their dresses, and the children filled it with 


Mary Farley’s Front. 


47 


feathers and bits of excelsior they found. When it 
was finished, they placed it by the grate for Solo- 
mon, the big black cat, who boarded ’round while 
his mistress was away. 

At last it was all done, and they waited impa- 
tiently for Mary Farley’s home-coming; then at 
last, when the letter came saying that she would 
come on a certain day, they began to wonder how 
they would present the front. They decided finally 
on a letter, to be written and placed on the center- 
table, and Matilda Brown was appointed to write 
it. She labored over it earnestly until she had com- 
pleted the following: 

This front is give to you in return for and appreciation of all 
past kindnesses. Your Grateful Neighbors. 

P. S.— Dick give the carpet and the chair and the table, and 
the children give the picture and cushion. 

This letter was considered a masterpiece, in 
spite of the fact that it was written on coarse pa- 
per, and written with some of the contents of Ma- 
tilda’s bluing-bottle. Jack Brown was especially 
proud of the fact that his wife had written it. “It’s 
short, and to the point, so’s she can sense it all at 
once,” he said. The letter was placed on the table, 
and they decided to keep close at home until she 
had time to read it, then flock in to enjoy the sur- 
prise. The evening was chill and gloomy, so a 
bright fire was kindled in the grate, and the rock- 
ing-chair drawn invitingly near, with Solomon 
snuggled down on his cushion on the other side. 
They hurried home as it neared traintime, then oc- 
cupied the time by pulling inquisitive children 
down from the windows. 


48 


Mary Farley’s Front. 


Mary Farley stepped from the train and looked 
for some familiar face, but there was none in sight. 
She sighed, and, picking up her valise, trudged 
wearily toward the other side of town. As she 
came out on the narrow, familiar street, no one 
greeted her ; the doors were all closed, and the dull 
ache around her heart almost smothered her. She 
had been forgotten so soon after all her sacrifices, 
she thought bitterly, as she walked with bowed 
head to her little gate. 

She raised the latch, then uttered one startled ex- 
clamation, and stood for a moment as if in a dream. 
She went up the walk to the neat little veranda, 
then opened the door. 

The fire in the grate crackled a welcome, and 
Solomon, rising sedately, bowed his back in a semi- 
circle, then, with a yawn, settled back comfortably 
on his cushion. 

She set the valise down and stood looking around 
the room, then, seeing the letter on the center-table, 
she fumbled in her pocket for her glasses, and read 
the letter over and over until at last the meaning of 
it dawned on her bewildered brain. 

The neighbors crept noiselessly up to look in at 
the big south window, then crept noiselessly back 
again, for they saw her kneeling with clasped hands 
in front of the little grate, and on her uplifted face 
was a light that had never shone there before, the 
light that comes from the realization of cherished 
hopes, after years of self-denial, sacrifice and pa- 
tient endurance. 


THE LOYALTY OF NUMBER 
THIRTEEN. 


“It’s a shame,” said the little woman ; “yes,” she 
repeated, “it’s a burning shame.” The little woman 
was acting as clerk in the hat and cap department 
of the rummage sale, and she held in her hands a 
dusty cap that some former graduate of the college 
had contributed to the sale. 

It was early morning, and she was talking to her- 
self, for the clerks of the various departments had 
not yet arrived. 

“How could he be so disloyal,” she said, indig- 
nantly, “when I would have given half my life for 
the privilege of wearing one for the year, and then 
keeping it as my most treasured possession for the 
remainder of my life, but I couldn’t do it. I don’t 
see how he could throw it away.” The little woman 
brushed away a tear, for she loved the dear, old col- 
lege, in which she had passed one busy, happy year, 
better perhaps than many who had carried away 
diplomas. 

The cap was turned and tossed about in the box 
during the week, but no one thought of purchasing 
it, and the little woman watched it with a bitter 
look in her brown eyes. 

The last day of the sale came, and the hat and 
cap department was being rapidly closed out. A 


50 The Loyalty of Number Thirteen. 

small bootblack stood turning over the stock with a 
disappointed look on his face. 

There were stiff hats and slouch hats, but no 
caps for a boy of his size. Suddenly the little wom- 
an picked up the mortar-board and clapped it on his 
head. “How would you like that for a penny?” she 
asked. 

The boy took it off and eyed it critically. If he 
bought this one, he w T ould have four cents of his 
nickel left. 

He looked at the nickel, then at the cap, hesitated 
a moment, then said in an apologetic tone, “I don’t 
think I’d like that style, ma’am ; boys like me don’t 
wear ’em, and them college chaps would guy me, 
you know.” 

A bright thought came to the little woman. She 
would put the man to shame who had shown such 
disloyalty. 

“I’ll give you a quarter if you’ll take it and wear 
it all the time until it is worn out, and if any of 
those college boys laugh at you, tell them that you 
have a better right to wear it than the one who 
threw it away ever had.” 

The boy nodded eager assent, put the cap on hur- 
riedly, and reached for the quarter. Such a bar- 
gain was unheard of, even at a rummage sale. 

The little fellow was a conspicuous object on the 
streets, and attracted much attention during the 
days that followed. 

A tall, broad-shouldered young man stopped one 
morning for a shine, and, eyeing the cap, asked mis- 
chievously, “When did you enter the Senior class?” 


The Loyalty of Number Thirteen. 51 

The boy’s face flushed, then, remembering his 
promise, he answered, boldly, “The little woman 
that gim’me this cap said if any you fellers tried to 
guy me, for me to tell you that I had more right to 
wear it than the feller that throwed it away ever 
did have, so there.” 

The twinkle in the young man’s eyes died out, 
and, holding out his hand, he said gravely, “Shake. 
You and the lady are right, and if any one else tries 
to guy you, I’ll stand by you.” 

The young professor kept his promise so well 
that the Senior class changed their taunting re- 
marks to merry greetings, and these the bootblack 
did not mind. And let me whisper a secret here, a 
secret that the young professor never told — the cap 
had once graced his own handsome blonde head. 

There were twelve members of the graduating 
class, and one of them dubbed the little bootblack 
“Number Thirteen,” when he first appeared in the 
mortar-board. The name took hold, as college nick- 
names have a trick of doing, until he was soon 
known to all the college people by that title. 

When he met the little woman he always lifted 
the cap in delight, and when she stopped for a mo- 
ment’s chat with him she always left him with 
the feeling that the sun was shining and birds sing- 
ing, no matter how dismal the day. 

He watched for her, waited for her and almost 
worshiped her, the only well-dressed woman who 
had ever taken the trouble to treat him as if he was 
already the gentleman he sometime meant to be. 

When the annual class fight between the Seniors 
and Juniors came on, “Number Thirteen” caught 


52 The Loyalty of Number Thirteen . 

the spirit of it, and the little woman found him one 
day holding down a bootblack larger than himself 
(who had been infringing on his territory), pound- 
ing him severely and saying, “You’re an old Junior, 
that’s what you are, an’ us Seniors ’ll make the 
town hot for you.” 

He looked up to find the brown eyes watching 
him with disapproval in their depths. “Do you 
think that is the way to be loyal to your college?” 
she asked, sadly. “I didn’t think you would do 
such a thing in the name of the college. I had such 
hopes of you ; I thought you would work hard, and 
I would help you all I could, and sometime you 
would be ready to enter the college and work your 
way up until some day you could wear a Senior cap 
that you had won by your work. You’re not going 
to be just a common scrub boy getting into street 
brawls like this, dishonoring the cap I gave you? 
You’re not going to disappoint all my plans for 
you? You will try to be the noble man it is pos- 
sible for you to be, won’t you?” 

She held out her hand to him. He placed his 
own rough little hand in hers, and, looking up at 
the tall college building, he answered her appeal in 
an awed tone, “I’ll try it, ma’am, I sure will.” 

Looking into his wide-open, honest eyes, the lit- 
tle woman believed him. 

From that day a new ambition took possession 
of “Number Thirteen.” He went to the little wom- 
an’s home of evenings, and she helped him with his 
lessons patiently, kindly remembering all the dis- 
advantages against which he would have to battle. 
He would look at the college walls with loving eyes. 


The Loyalty of Number Thirteen . 53 

It was his college ; he would be a student there some 
day, and grow wise and good. Then he could wear 
a shiny new cap, a cap that fit. The little woman 
said so, and the little woman knew. 

In the meantime he worked faithfully for his 
class and his beloved professor, the young professor 
who always stopped to shake hands, no matter 
where they met. He gave their shoes the brightest 
shines it was possible for him to give, and followed 
them with an admiration and devotion that was 
poorly repaid. His dislike for the Juniors grew 
stronger as time passed, for the tantalizing fellows 
made life a burden to him, with their taunts and 
jeers. 

One morning when “Number Thirteen” shoul- 
dered his kit and started toward the college end of 
town he happened to glance up, and there, floating 
defiantly from the belfry, was the Junior flag. His 
breath came hard as he eyed it. What right had 
it there when only yesterday he had heard two mem- 
bers of his own class discussing the possibilities of 
being able to place their flag there? 

He glanced critically at the structure of the 
belfry and tower above it. His face lighted with a 
happy thought, and he started to find his favorite 
Senior, to whom he confided his secret. The Senior 
looked doubtful, then hopeful,, and finally joyful, 
as the plan was unfolded to him in detail. 

In the gray dawn of the next morning, when the 
Juniors had retired from their watch, exultant over 
the Seniors* seeming hopelessness and defeat, a tiny 
figure climbed out past the belfry, up the side of the 
tower, creeping carefully from one jutting orna- 


54 The Loyalty of Number Thirteen . 

ment to another, up where no one but his tiny self 
could climb, then planted the Senior flag many feet 
higher than the Juniors’. 

The Seniors held their breath when he turned 
for the descent, but he came down slowly, cau- 
tiously, to the trap-door, where they could grasp 
him in their arms. Then how they praised him, 
carrying him on their shoulders, and making much 
of him in general. 

Finally one of them asked, “Why didn’t you 
bring down the Junior flag? Did you forget it, or 
were you afraid?” 

“Furgit! Afraid!” he ejaculated, scornfully; 
“course not; I jest wanted them Juniors to see how 
high we was above ’em.” 

Then how they cheered him, until the Juniors 
came running to see what had caused the outburst, 
and beheld with chagrin the Senior flag, floating 
triumphantly far above their own. 

That day the Senior class decided that they 
needed a mascot, and when the class picture was 
taken, there in the center was “Number Thirteen,” 
with the big, white figures fastened on his shabby 
coat, and a satisfied smile on his face. 

Commencement week rolled around, and “Num- 
ber Thirteen” looked forward with dismal fore- 
bodings to the time when his class would leave the 
college town, for they had built up a good trade 
for him, besides showing him many favors, such as 
saving choice bits from their banquets, and giving 
him free tickets to the football games, where he 
stood up and yelled with all his small strength, or 
huddled down a forlorn little heap on the bleach- 


The Loyalty of Number Thirteen. 55 

ers, according to the success or failure of his be- 
loved college. 

The early summer had been dry and sultry, and 
the little face under the mortar-board was brown 
from the sun’s scorching rays, but the Seniors con- 
gratulated themselves on the fact that the face had 
broadened, and the little form was growing plump- 
er, and a happier light shone from the gray eyes, 
since they had adopted him as a member of the 
class. 

As “Number Thirteen” was sauntering sadly 
down the street the day before Commencement, his 
quick ears heard the crackle and snap of fire, and, 
looking up, he saw tongues of flame just creeping 
through the roof of the dormitory. He turned and 
ran toward the main part of town, crying “Fire!” 
with all his might. When he reached the little one- 
horse fire department quarters, he hurried them 
with his almost breathless excitement into making 
quicker time than they had ever been known to 
make. He climbed up on the back of the wagon, 
and went with them in the wild race to the dormi- 
tory, but the huge building was already wrapped 
in flames, and the firemen saw that their efforts 
would be useless in trying to save it. But the fire 
must be stayed, or it would spread to the buildings 
near. 

Particles of the burning building were hurled 
high in the air by the force of the heat, and were 
lodging here and there. A burning brand flew high 
above the building, was caught by a gust of wind 
and carried up, up, then lodged on the college 
tower. It smouldered awhile, then caught in some 


56 The Loyalty of Number Thirteen . 

dry leaves that had been carried to the crevice by 
autumn winds, and a tiny red flame shot up toward 
the open slats and carved work of the tower. 

A pair of keen, gray eyes saw it, and a shrill 
scream brought the attention of many eyes, but 
when the firemen turned the stream of water to- 
ward the college building a cry of distress went up, 
for the stream would not reach the tower. The 
water was failing, and the pressure was not strong 
enough to carry it so high. The pair of gray eyes 
measured the distance. The fire was just above 
where he had planted the Senior flag. He had 
reached it once ; he could do it again. 

Again and again the firemen turned the stream 
toward the fire. It could not reach the little flame, 
growing bolder in its freedom. Then the crowd 
watching below saw a tiny figure creep out through 
the belfry on up the side of the tower, while they 
stood in awful suspense. For a second he paused 
— was he afraid? would he fail? Ah, it was his cap 
slipping from his head. Holding with one hand, 
he removed it and caught it in his teeth. Then up 
again, to the place where he had planted the flag. 

Placing his feet firmly in the openings of the 
ornamental work, and grasping with his left hand 
a slight projection above, he lifted the burning 
brand with his right hand, and flung it far out from 
the building. Then, taking his cap, he fought the 
little flame, beating and buffeting it until it 
stopped blazing, smoldered sullenly for a little 
while, then died out. 

He watched it for a moment to be sure it was 
quite gone, then, taking his cap in his teeth, he 


The Loyalty of Number Thirteen . 57 

started slowly on his descent. A loud cheer went 
up from the crowd. Then they watched breath- 
lessly while he crept slowly down. When he 
reached the trap-door strong arms caught him and 
carried him down to the waiting crowd. 

The battered cap was caught out of his hands, 
passed through the crowd, and brought back to him 
filled with coins and bills. When the young pro- 
fessor had explained to “Number Thirteen” that it 
was all for him, he cried excitedly, “It’ll help to 
take me through my college; you keep it for me,” 
and he poured it all into the professor’s hat. Then, 
looking at his torn and broken cap, he said with a 
sob, “But I’ve ruined my cap, an’ I promised the 
little woman I’d wear it an’ try to be an honor to 
it, ’cause she couldn’t ever wear one. I had to save 
my college, but I’ve ruined my cap, an’ what d’ you 
reckon she’ll think?” 

A little woman pushed her way through the 
crowd to his side, and said brokenly, “I think— I 
think — ” then, sobbing, she raised the little, burned 
hand, and kissed it tenderly, and the crowd, guess- 
ing her thought, sent up another rousing cheer for 
“Number Thirteen.” 



AS STARS IN THEIR PLACES. 


CHAPTER I. 

“Come up, Dan De, we’ll have to be joggin’ on, 
so we can tell our Hettie the good news. It’s good 
news for Hettie, old boy, but bad times it’s going 
to be for you and me with our Hettie away from 
home. I feel juberous about lettin’ her go, Dan De. 
I’m afraid it’ll change her sweet ways. Mis’ Talbot 
and the perfessor thinks she’d better get out from 
home and finish up her edjucation, for fear they 
are not quite up to date in their teachin’. We’re 
not a-goin’ to be selfish enough to keep her from 
havin’ advantages, just because we couldn’t have 
’em, are we? Come up, I say.” 

The speaker was a rosy-faced, white-haired man, 
of middle age, seated in a covered wagon, and Dan 
De, to whom the remarks were addressed, was the 
large, rawboned, gray horse harnessed to the 
wagon. They had been resting under the shade of 
a big oak-tree by the side of the pike. 

Dan De waited to be admonished for the third 
time, to “come up.” He switched his tail lazily at a 
fly that buzzed aimlessly in the hot July sunshine, 
then, drawing the wagon out to the center of the 
pike, proceeded to jog on. 

Hiram Hinkle, huckster, sat with bowed head 
and thoughtful expression. He held the lines, but 
Dan De was master of the situation, and took his 


60 


As Stars in Their Places . 


own gait. It grew late, and the sun, sinking behind 
the heavy fringe of timber that skirted the road on 
the western side, threw back such ardent glances 
along the sky, that the glory of it was enough to 
have aroused Hiram Hinkle from his gloomy 
thoughts ; but he sat with eyes downcast, while Dan 
De plodded lazily on, and the lovely sunset was 
wasted on the two. 

The colors faded in a dingy brown in the west, 
a katydid called shrilly from the meadow, and was 
answered by its mate in contradictory tone. 

Hiram Hinkle roused at the sound, and said 
aloud: “Dan De, do you hear that? There’ll be 
frost in six weeks ; that’ll be by the middle of Sep- 
tember. Winter’s goin’ to begin early, and it’ll be a 
long one for us, old feller.” 

When they came in sight of the little village of 
Brandt’s Crossing, the old man straightened him- 
self, and, rubbing his hand over his smooth, ruddy 
face, said severely to his horse: “Look here, sir; 
don’t you let on that we’re feeling bad over this, not 
a bit of it, you hear me? If our Hettie knew we 
was takin’ it to heart this way, she wouldn’t go a 
step, and we want her to go and have a better 
chance in the world than we had, don’t we?” 

For answer, Dan De quickened his pace, and, 
turning the corner at the crossing of the roads 
where stood Brandt’s grocery, dry-goods store and 
post-office combined, he went up the slope of hill 
to the last house in the little town. The little white 
cottage stood aloof from the straggling row of un- 
painted houses that bordered the country road on 
each side leading down to the crossing. 


As Stars in Their Places . 


61 


Dan De turned in at the gate of a large yard. 
The young girl who had opened the gate closed it 
quickly, and came running to be almost smothered 
by the fervent embrace of the huckster, who had 
climbed down from the wagon. 

Dan De whinnied for a share of the welcome, and 
the girl patted his soft, gray chin, while her father 
removed the harness. She was talking all the time, 
asking questions by the dozen in an eager way, 
until her father laughingly called a halt, saying she 
did not give him time to answer. 

She ran into the house, calling back that she 
would have supper ready by the time he had fed 
and watered Dan De. “I am going to get supper by 
myself,” she said, “for Aunt Martha has gone to 
stay overnight with Melissa Holt’s sick baby.” 

Hiram Hinkle was hungry, after the long drive, 
and the dainty supper, with his cup of hot tea, 
rested him, and he was soon talking gaily. He told 
the girl how well the butter sold, how the chickens 
sold a half cent higher on the pound than he had 
expected, and how Dan De backed his ears at the 
electric cars as they whizzed by, but never once 
scared at anything. 

After they had taken the lamp into the sitting- 
room, he talked on every subject he could think of, 
except the one that lay heaviest on his mind. He 
sat nervously on the edge of his favorite arm-chair, 
looking intently at her awhile, then said abruptly : 
“Hettie, I drove out to the college town to-day, and 
went to see the head boss of the college. I asked a 
man where his house was, and I knocked pretty 
loud, and his wife come to the door. I reckon it 


62 


As Stars in Their Places . 


was his wife; she was peaked-lookin’ like she had 
been brought up on book learnin’ and hadn’t had 
much nourishment since. 

“I said to her, Td like to see your husband,’ and 
she told me that I would find him at his office, and 
started to shut the door, but I says, ‘Hold on a 
minute ; I don’t know where his office is.’ 

“She pointed over toward the big college build- 
ing, and told me to go in at one side, and just be- 
fore I come out on the other side I’d see a door with 
‘President’s Office’ on it, and for me to turn in 
there. I couldn’t see for the life of me why I 
couldn’t ’a’ gone in at the side that was close to the 
door, but I reckon that’s ag’inst college rules. I 
found the place all right, and when I knocked, a 
little bit of a feller come to the door. 

“ I asked him if I could see the head boss of the 
college, and he kind of laughed, and says, ‘Step in ; 
I guess I’m the man you want to see.’ 

“I never was so took aback. He didn’t look big 
enough to run a deestrict school, but he talked 
sharp, and he had a real knowin’ look out of his 
eyes. He spoke well of Perfessor Earle and said 
you could go to college if you could pass the exam- 
ination all right. He said where they entered one 
of the higher classes without previous work at the 
college, they made the examination pretty rigid. 
It sounded like it might be pretty tough to get 
through, the way he said ‘pretty rigid,’ with that 
knowin’ shake of his head, but I told him that I 
thought you could do it. He said he thought they 
would be a chance for you to work for your board 


As Stars in Their Places. 


G3 


at one of the clubs, if I could pay your tuition, so 
I told him I’d bring you when school started up.” 

He had told her all this hurriedly, as if he feared 
that his courage would fail. He had tried to make 
it sound cheerful and like his usual jocular self. 
The girl listened, her eyes wide with surprise. 

When he had finished, she exclaimed : “O father, 
I never dreamed of going now. I intended to teach 
some time, and make my own way. How can you 
spare me, and how can you pay the tuition?” 

He had expected such an outburst, and was pre- 
pared. He made a chuckling noise that passed 
for a laugh as he answered: “Now, I reckon I 
thought that problem all out beforehand. I’ve 
saved up some money along, and it don’t take much 
to keep me and Dan De. I can pay your tuition 
just as well as not, and I’d love awful well to pay 
your board so you wouldn’t have to work, but I 
ain’t got quite enough. The perfessor said that 
lots of folks had worked their way through and 
been well thought of too. I’ve always aimed for 
you to go sometime. Your mother used to say that 
she wanted you to have a chance to be what she had 
wanted to be. You know how I always told you 
she wanted an edjucation. Your mother would 
want you to make the most of this chance, and as 
for sparin’ you” — he cleared his throat, then he 
tried to make a joke of it — “I guess we can spare 
you all right. Your Aunt Martha can cook good 
meals, and clear out the dirt, and, besides, we’re 
not here much, me and Dan De; we’re mostly on 
the road. So it’s all settled, and you are a-goin’ !” 

Hettie saw the effort her father was making to 


64 


As Stars in Their Places . 


keep up, and knew that of all things he detested a 
scene, so she thanked him quietly, kissed him, and, 
taking her lamp, went to her room for the night. 
She went to bed, but not to sleep. Through the 
long night she lay looking out of her window, where 
the moonlight shone brightly, and the trees threw 
quaint shadows on the ground. She thought of all 
the years of loving, patient care her father had 
given her. Aunt Martha had seen that the little, 
motherless girl was comfortably clothed and well 
fed, but father had been her all in all — father, 
teacher, playmate, everything to her — until she had 
started to school. How proud he had been of her 
progress as she passed from one year to another, 
until she had finished her work in the common 
schools ; then her new friends had come. 

Professor Earle, whose health had failed, mak- 
ing teaching impossible, had bought a small farm 
and moved near Brandt’s Crossing, to try the 
effect of country air. He and his good wife had 
taken to Hettie from the first, because of a fan- 
cied resemblance to their only daughter, who had 
died years before. 

Then the doctor’s wife had come. Dr. Talbot, 
through some misfortune or from his own lack of 
character, had lost his practice in the city and had 
come to Brandt’s Crossing. The people of the sur- 
rounding country soon learned to respect his skill, 
and as he was the only physician near, they closed 
their eyes to his faults. He always managed to 
keep sober when he had any serious case on hand, 
and in a few years had built up a good practice 
here. 


As Stars in Their Places . 


65 


The doctor’s wife was a lady — every one acknowl- 
edged that at first sight — a lady in the truest sense 
of the word ; gracious and kindly toward all the vil- 
lage people; but Hettie was her one close friend. 
They had been drawn toward each other because 
they were so different from their surroundings. 

Hettie wondered, as she lay thinking of the past, 
what life would have been like without Professor 
Earle and Mrs. Talbot. They had understood her 
longing for an education, and had helped her, lend- 
ing her books and hearing her recite until they felt 
that she had gone as far as they were able to 
guide her. They decided that she needed the pol- 
ishing that comes from contact with college life, a 
something that could not be obtained at Brandt’s 
Crossing. They had talked it all over with her 
father, and he had arranged for her to go. 

Hettie would feel tumultuously happy for a time, 
then the thought of leaving her father would come, 
making her ashamed of her joy ; but toward morn- 
ing the memory of all that her father had said of 
her mother’s ambition and hope for her, came, 
bringing strong argument in favor of going. She 
arose early and prepared the breakfast. 

Her father looked worn and tired, as if he, too, 
had passed a sleepless night; but they made a 
merry meal together, and Hettie was hurrying to 
finish the morning work that she might go to tell 
Professor Earle and Mrs. Talbot of her good news, 
when Aunt Martha came home. 

Aunt Martha was Hiram Hinkle’s maiden sister. 
Dear Aunt Martha, in her plain calico dress, with 
its straight, full skirt and spencer waist, her gray 


66 


As Stars in Their Places . 


hair parted in V-shape on top of her head and the 
fore tops rolled smoothly back behind her ears. 

There are no words to describe her. She was just 
Aunt Martha, loved and feared by all who knew 
her, for her bright eyes were quick to detect the 
failings of others, and her kindly hands were ever 
ready to help in time of need. Perhaps Hettie’s 
was the only love unmixed with fear that she had 
ever known. 

Hettie dropped her dish towel, and caught the 
prim old lady in an embrace that almost lifted 
her off her feet, as she came into the kitchen, telling 
her the news, expecting to have to meet numberless 
objections, but, to her surprise, Aunt Martha quiet- 
ly took up her knitting. 

Hettie felt disappointed, for, after making up 
one’s mind to argue, it is easier to argue than to be 
ignored. After awhile, she said : “Don’t you want 
me to go, Aunt Martha? Don’t you believe I 
ought to try to get an education?” 

Aunt Martha knit several rounds, making the 
needles click decisively. She often did this before 
answering a question. Once when a child, Hettie 
had asked her father if Aunt Martha had to think 
with her needles. When she laid the knitting down 
and looked up, she answered tersely : “I believe in 
edjucation for some, and some I don’t, and I don’t 
know which ones I believe in it for till I see it tried 
on ’em then, picking up her work, she said : “Now 
run along and tell Mis’ Talbot; I reckon you’re just 
a-dyin to tell her,” and, without further bidding, 
Hettie went. 


As Stars in Their Places . 


67 


CHAPTER II. 

Hettie found Mrs. Talbot as enthusiastic over the 
change as she had expected, although she dreaded 
the parting from her bright young friend, and felt 
that Brandt’s Crossing would be a dreary place 
without her. 

They talked of her college work for a time, then 
Hettie went to tell the news to Mollie Parr, the vil- 
lage dressmaker, who had made all of her best 
dresses, planning and skimping to make the most 
of the scanty wardrobe, and loving the sweet girl as 
if she had been her very own. 

Mollie Parr had been a pretty girl, but life had 
been a hard struggle for her. Few people remem- 
bered her as she had been in her youth, and now 
she was a faded, nervous little woman, grown old 
before her time. 

When Hettie entered the sewing-room she called 
out gaily: “Oh, Miss Mollie, I’m going to college, 
and you promised to help me get ready whenever 
my chance came.” 

Miss Mollie dropped the lap full of ruffling, and, 
reaching up, kissed the tall girl on each cheek, then 
she choked back a sob as she said : “I’m glad you 
got your heart’s desire, Hettie, and I’ll do all in my 
power to help you get ready.” 

They sat for an hour planning ' for the clothes 
Hettie would need. Miss Mollie thought that the 
black skirt could be ripped and pressed to make 
it presentable, and with several shirt waists would 
do until winter; then there was the red dress she 


68 


As Stars in Their Places . 


had outgrown, and the old green skirt that would 
make waists for winter. “But, O Hettie,” she 
exclaimed, “you must have an evening dress for 
them big receptions. I’ve been reading lots 
about them, and it won’t do to wear your school 
dresses to them, and I’ve just thought about your 
mother’s wedding dress. I know it’s good and 
full, for I made it, and I could get one any way we 
wanted it.” 

Hettie answered slowly: “Oh, I just couldn’t 
take it ; I won’t need an evening dress, for I’ll not 
be likely to get an invitation.” 

“Oh, yes, you will,” Miss Mollie insisted, “and 
you know she’d want you to go, and want you to 
look pretty, too, and your father will want you to 
have it, so I’ll look over my fashion plates this 
evening and pick out a style that will suit you.” 

When all their plans had been made, Hettie went 
to see Professor Earle. She found him in his gar- 
den, but he dropped his hoe and listened with 
pleasure to Hettie’s plans for the future. 

After she had left the professor’s house she felt 
that she would like to be alone for awhile to think 
of her wonderful good fortune. So, instead of 
going back through the village, she turned into the 
river road. The huge trees reached friendly arms 
to each other across the road, making an arch that 
was cool and quiet. She could catch glimpses of 
the river running quietly along, except where it 
caught at the roots of the trees, and broke into a 
merry gurgle at its own pranks. When she came 
to the bridge she stopped to look down the stream. 

She was wishing she could see John Hart, and 


As Stars in Their Places . 


69 


tell him of her good luck. John would be so 
glad. She could not remember when she had first 
known John. They had played together, studied 
together at school, and finished the common school 
course the same year. Then they had studied to- 
gether and recited their lessons to Professor Earle 
in the long winter evenings, always planning to go 
to college when the opportunity came. 

John’s mother was dead, too, and his father had 
been a huckster, but his health had failed, and John 
had put by his hopes for a better education, rented 
the little farm to a family who would care for his 
father, and, taking his father’s place on the road, 
was making a comfortable living for both, but with 
no hope of going away to the life he longed for. 

Hettie was sorry for John, but then he was a 
man, and men could make their opportunities, 
while girls had to wait for opportunity to come to 
them. 

She stood humming the old song, “The Bend of 
the River,” when suddenly two warm hands were 
clasped over her eyes, a hearty voice joined in the 
chorus, then cried out, “Guess who?” 

“Take your hands off my eyes, John,” she an- 
swered ; then, as he released her, she turned to face 
the broad-shouldered young fellow, saying laugh- 
ingly : “As if I wouldn’t recognize your stentorian 
voice anywhere. Guess what I was thinking of, 
John?” 

“I couldn’t,” he answered promptly. 

“I was thinking of the time when we used to 
come here fishing, and we were always planning to 
some day go beyond the bend of the river, and see 


70 


As Stars in Their Places . 


what was on the other side, and now — O John, I 
am going beyond the bend. Fm going to college at 
last.” 

She looked squarely into his handsome, sun- 
burned face (for she was almost as tall as he), and 
read the look of sorrow and disappointment writ- 
ten so plainly there. She stood quite still for a 
moment, then cried out: “O John, you’re not glad, 
when you know I have longed for a chance in the 
world, and we had been friends so long.” 

He turned from her reproachful eyes, and looked 
down the shining stretch of water as he answered 
slowly : “Don’t talk as if we were not to be friends 
any more. I’ll try to be glad, but it isn’t what we 
had planned. You are going around the bend, and 
I am left behind. I’m not begrudging you your 
chance, Hettie, but I couldn’t help feeling disap- 
pointed that you could go on, while I must stop 
here, and never know of the life beyond the bend.” 

Hettie held out her hand, saying, “I’m sorry I 
was cross, John, but don’t give up all hope; your 
chance will come some day.” 

It is so easy to see the bright side of other peo- 
ple’s clouds. Hettie said good-by, and hurried to- 
ward home, singing as she went, but John stood 
still on the bridge, his heart filled with a bitter 
feeling of rebellion toward the fate that had 
chained him to the life of drudgery. 

Hettie worked diligently through the hot August 
days, for there was so much to be done before she 
went away. She tried to think of all the little 
things that would add to her father’s comfort, the 
little things that Aunt Martha thought foolishness. 


As Stars in Their Places . 


71 


In the long afternoons she sat with Miss Mollie, 
patiently ripping, turning and pressing the old 
clothes, to make them look like new. Her father 
had insisted on having the mother’s wedding dress 
made over for her, and Miss Mollie had fash- 
ioned from it a lovely evening dress, but, to her 
grief, Hettie would not allow her to cut it low 
in the neck, or make it without sleeves. Miss Mol- 
lie argued that evening dresses were always made 
that way, but Hettie would not be convinced, so 
they compromised by having it just come to the 
slender throat and the sleeves to the elbow, finish- 
ing both neck and sleeves with the soft lace ruffles 
her mother had worn on her wedding-day. When 
she tried the dress on for the last time, Miss Mol- 
lie seemed more nervous than usual. 

She asked Hettie to stand in front of the long 
mirror, then, drawing a box from the closet shelf, 
she lifted out an opera cape of silvery gray eider- 
down, lined with rich red satin. She threw it over 
Hettie’s shoulders, and as the girl turned toward 
her with an exclamation of surprise, she sank into 
her little sewing-chair and clasped her hands in 
delight. 

“Oh, I’m so glad I had it,” she said excitedly. 
“I had never told any one about it. Once when I 
was in the city I got extravagant, and bought it. 
I never had bought anything in my life before that 
I didn’t just need. It was money one of my uncles 
gave to me, and I had a right to spend it any way 
1 wanted to, and it’s been such a comfort to me. 
Sometimes of a night when I felt lonesome and all 
out of sorts, I’d put it ’round me, and turn the 


72 


As Stars in Their Places . 


soft collar up around my face, and it would take 
the tired feeling all away, and sometimes when Fve 
been real hurried I’d just reach in the box and 
smooth it. Pve given up ever having a chance to be 
like other folks now, but I’ve taken so much pleas- 
ure in thinking how pretty it would look over your 
gray gown ; it just gives it the right finish, and it’s 
Tours.” 

Ilettie sank down in a gray heap by the little 
rocker, almost smothering the little dressmaker 
with her embraces, as she cried out : “Oh, Miss Mol- 
lie, I can’t take it, when it’s all the pretty thing you 
ever had.” 

“There, there, get up before you muss your 
dress,” said Miss Mollie; then, clasping Hettie 
closely, she said brokenly : “If it was in my power, 
I’d give you every good thing this old world holds, 
and you shan’t spoil my pleasure by refusing my 
one little gift.” 

So the opera cape was packed in the trunk with 
the evening dress. 

When it came to saying good-by to the old 
friends, Hettie found it hard work. Professor 
Earle and Mrs. Talbot spoke helpful words of en- 
couragement, and Miss Mollie held her closely and 
sobbed out her blessing. 

Aunt Martha, who felt doubtful of the propriety 
of sending a girl away by herself, warned her of 
the dangers that would beset her path, telling her 
solemnly that she wanted her to remember how she 
had tried to raise her right, and matter-of-fact 
Hettie laid her head on the motherly breast, and 
sobbed out her love for her. The unexpected 


As Stars in Their Places . 


73 


action nearly took the good woman’s breath, but the 
next moment Hettie had dried her tears and was 
begging her to be good to father, and write to her 
immediately if he was sick or needed her. 

Aunt Martha sniffed scornfully as she said: “I 
guess I don’t have to be told to be good to my own 
brother, and I guess if he was sick I could take 
about as good care of him as you could.” 

When it came to telling John Hart good-by, Het- 
tie was puzzled by his manner. He clasped her 
hand close for a minute, then turned abruptly 
away, without any of the kindly wishes for the fu- 
ture that her other friends had given so freely. 
Hettie climbed up beside her father in the huck- 
ster wagon. Dan De trotted out of the yard and 
down through the little village, where the neigh- 
bors were waiting at their gates to wave a last good- 
by to her. 

The platform of the little village store was filled 
with the usual number of loafers, and after the 
wagon had rattled out of sight, one gray-haired 
man changed his quid of tobacco to the other cheek 
and remarked : “I ’low Hiram’s made a bad move, 
sendin’ Hettie away to get more lamin’. She’ll 
come back high-headed and uppish, and Brandt’s 
Crossing won’t be good enough for her.” 

The other loafers shook their heads solemnly 
over the bad move, and went on with their whit- 
tling. 


74 


As Stars in Their Places . 


CHAPTER III. 

It was the first day of the fall term at Delmar 
College. Students were gathered in groups in the 
lower halls, where the great doors swung wide and 
the warm September breeze swept pleasantly 
through. 

The boys were telling each other of the long 
tramps across country, or trips made with their 
wheels during the vacation. Some few earnest- 
minded ones were comparing the work they had 
done. The girls chatted merrily of the summer 
gaieties. 

One group of girls near the door seemed espe- 
cially merry, all talking at once to a tall, beautiful 
girl, around w T hom they gathered, as bees around a 
flower. It could be plainly seen that she was a 
leader and these her adoring subjects. In the 
midst of a peal of laughter brought forth by one 
of her bright sayings, a plainly dressed girl passed 
by them, going through the door and down the 
walk. Before she was out of hearing, one of the 
girls poised lightly on the lower step of the stair- 
way called out gaily to the girl in the center of 
the group : “I say, Dell Duncan, there’s a new girl 
for you; you have such a penchant for making 
things agreeable for strangers. I just wish you 
could have seen her arrival. It was the richest thing 
I ever saw. She and an old man, whom I suppose 
was the father, drove up to the Brady Club-house, 
in a covered wagon drawn by one old gray horse. 
They took out a trunk just one size larger than a 


As Stars in Their Places . 


75 


shoe-box, and the old man carried it in at the 
kitchen door, and the girl followed him.” 

Then a black-eyed, mischievous-looking girl said : 
“I saw her over at Professor Rice’s room, when she 
registered. Professor Rice adjusted his glasses 
and said in his most courteous way, ‘Your name, 
please,’ and she answered, ‘Hester Hinkle.’ Then 
he said, ‘Your father’s name and occupation,’ and 
she said, ‘Hiram Hinkle, huckster.’ It sounded so 
ridiculous I couldn’t keep my face straight, and 
Professor Rice saw me and said, ‘I believe you have 
registered, Miss Brown ; will you please make room 
for others?’ The names made me think of a nur- 
sery jingle.” 

The other girls laughed, but if they had expected 
Dell Duncan to laugh, they were disappointed. 
She gave them a withering glance of disapproval 
as she said: “Lou Martin and Mim Brown, why 
will you persist in trying to make a new girl miser- 
able here? You wouldn’t treat the humblest guest 
rudely at your homes, and this is our home while we 
are here. I’m ashamed of you, talking so that poor 
girl could hear you. I only wish that I had half 
the ability to help strangers that you give me credit 
for.” 

She walked away, leaving the girls looking blank- 
ly at each other. 

Lou Martin broke the silence by saying : “Well, 
if it wasn’t Dell, I’d be put out over such a lecture, 
but she is such a dear when she is sweet, one just 
has to put up with her bad spells but Mim Brown 
tossed her short black curls and retorted: “I’ll be 
put out over it if it is Dell Duncan, and I’ll see if 


76 


As Stars in Their Places . 


she brings into our select circle the daughter of 
Hiram Hinkle, huckster.” 

The other girls laughed at this, then went to 
their rooms to get ready for the morrow’s work. 

When Dell Duncan left the girls, she went direct- 
ly to the Brady house, where she had her room. 
She started up the stairway and met Mrs. Brady, 
manager of the club. She stopped to ask impul- 
sively : “Can you tell me where Miss Hinkle’s room 
is?” 

Mrs. Brady studied for a moment, then an- 
swered: “Oh, you mean the new dining-room girl. 
She has the little room next the kitchen, that opens 
out of the dining-room. She’s going to wait on the 
table and help with the dishes for her room and 
board. I guess it was all her father could do to 
pay her tuition, and I thought I would give her a 
chance to earn her board.” 

Mrs. Brady went on down the stairway with a 
complacent look on her fat face. Dell shook one 
white fist at the broad back, saying to herself: 
“Trying to give the impression that she has done 
a charitable thing, when she knows she will get 
enough work out of that poor girl to pay her board 
twice over.” 

She turned and ran lightly down the stairway, 
through the lower hall, and across the dining- 
room, then tapped at the door next the kitchen. 
She expected it to be opened by a girl with eyes red 
and swollen from a hard cry. They usually did 
that after the first snubbing the girls gave them, 
but she was confronted by a very erect young lady, 
with a very white face, and an ominous light in 


As Stars in Their Places . 


77 


her dark eyes. The girl looked surprised when 
Dell stepped into the little room, then she asked 
coldly: “Why did you follow me? Did you think 
I could not hear what the girls said about me in 
the hall? Did you come to see the shoe-box trunk? 
It is over there in the corner, but the wagon and 
horse and my father have gone.” 

Then her spirit of defiance left her, and she drop- 
ped down weak and trembling on the little trunk. 

Dell Duncan looked at her in amazement for a 
moment, this outburst was so different from any- 
thing she had ever encountered, then she dropped 
on her knees by the side of the trunk, and, putting 
both arms around the girl, said gently: “What 
made you think such dreadful things about me? 
Did you think that I would mistreat a new girl ? I 
followed you because I wanted to see you, and not 
your trunk, if you please. I like your spirit ; if it 
had been me, I would have cried myself sick. I 
need just such a girl as you for a friend. If 
you will forgive me for following you, shake hands 
and say you will be my inseparable, if you want 
a taste of college slang.” 

Then Hester Hinkle looked into the sweet, honest 
eyes, and knew that she had found what she longed 
for, a girl friend. DelPs call lasted half an hour, 
and in a casual glance she took in the contents of 
the little room, with its one small window opening 
on the dismal back yard. There was a shabby half- 
bed in the corner; a small table near the window 
with a looking-glass over it that made DelPs aristo- 
cratic nose look flat, her mouth about twice its 
natural width, and her forehead run up high and 


78 


As Stars in Their Places. 


narrow. She wondered if it wouldn’t shake her 
pride a little to have to look in that glass every 
day. The trunk on which Hester sat, and the hard 
kitchen chair which was her seat of observation, 
completed the furnishing. 

A bell rang in the kitchen, and Hester started to 
her feet, for this was the signal for her to arrange 
the table for dinner. Dell placed her pretty hands 
on Hester’s shoulders as she was leaving, and said : 
“Remember, when you want to see a friend, that 
Dell Duncan is in Room 15 on the second floor, and 
the latch-string will always be out when you come.” 

Hester went to her work with a light heart, 
thinking that college life could not be so very hard 
with such a friend as she had found. 

It was the first meal at the club; the students 
were all talking to each other, and Hester was not 
noticed more than the new table-linen or dishes 
purchased since last year. 

That was all she had hoped for, to be unnoticed. 
After dinner she dried the dishes while Raphael, 
the colored boy, washed them. Raphael rang the 
bells for meals, served drinks at the table, ran 
errands, washed dishes and made himself general- 
ly useful. Mrs. Brady did not believe in allowing 
her help too much leisure. She thought it spoiled 
them, and Louise, the colored cook, worked from 
daylight until dark, in a dull, patient way that 
made Hester’s heart ache to watch her. 

It did not take Hester long to become accustomed 
to the daily routine. She rose at six o’clock to see 
that the dining-room was in order, then waited on 
the club as the members came lazily in. She dried 


As Stars in Their Places. 


79 


the dishes and rearranged the table for dinner be- 
fore time for chapel exercises, then attended all 
of her recitations. After the work was done at 
dinner, she was free to study until the six o’clock 
supper. 

She found it harder to do the work in class than 
it had been with her kind friends at home, but she 
had taken the rigid examination with such ease 
that the “little man with the knowin’ look in his 
eyes” had been agreeably surprised, and had spoken 
well of the training she had received from her 
friends at home. 

She soon learned to love and respect her in- 
structors. There were the diminutive Dr. Phelps, 
president, or head boss, as her father called him; 
Miss Margaret Maxwell, professor of mathematics, 
with her sweet, serious face and gentle voice; Pro- 
fessor Wendall, the white-haired, courteous old 
gentleman, who taught Greek; and Eugene Rice, 
professor of English. The other students laughed 
at this big, awkward fellow, who never knew what 
to do with his hands or feet when in society, but 
Hester listened to his eloquent words, and, watch- 
ing the light that came into his dark eyes as he 
talked, wondered how they could jest about his 
hands and feet. 

Hester found life different from the dear home 
life at Brandt’s Crossing, where every one had 
loved her, and treated her with respect. A few 
of the girls treated her with open contempt, and the 
boys felt compelled to laugh at their witticisms, 
unless Dell Duncan was near. They felt a little 
bit afraid of the flash that would come into her 


so 


As Stars in Their Places. 


blue eyes over any rudeness shown toward Hester, 
and the girls at the club were careful of what they 
said before her, but she was not always near and 
could not really know what Hester suffered, for 
Hester was too proud to complain to any one. The 
letters she sent home were bright and cheery, with- 
out a hint of the trials she had to endure, but full 
of praise of the kindness of her new friend. They 
came as rays of sunshine to the two lonely old peo- 
ple, who had sacrificed more than she could ever 
know to give her the opportunity they had missed. 

The little room next to the kitchen was hot and 
uncomfortable through the sultry autumn days, 
and Dell found many excuses for bringing Hester 
up to her own comfortable room to study, saying 
that she was lonely and needed some one else in the 
room, and Hester was glad to go. 


As Stars in Tlieir Places . 


81 


CHAPTER IV. 

The last day of October rolled around, and Dell, 
hearing a crowd of girls coming up the stairway 
to her room, shut herself in the closet in a spirit 
of mischief, just to see what the girls would do. 
They came into the room in great glee, calling for 
her, but, not finding her, they took possession of 
her comfortable couch and rockers, all talking 
at once. Presently Dell heard, above the uproar, 
Mim Brown’s voice, saying : “It’s a good thing Dell 
don’t know about the boys’ plans for to-night, or 
she would nip them in the bud. You know Keith 
Carroll has made up a crowd of boys to go out 
serenading, and they have fixed up the most ridic- 
ulous song to sing by the window of the room 
where Dell’s protege sleeps; it’s too funny for 
anything. I can just see her big eyes, how they 
will look when she hears it. Hateful, haughty 
thing, she acts like she was a princess here in 
disguise.” 

Dell almost held her breath now, for fear they 
would discover her hiding-place, but they rattled 
on for awhile, then left the room and went troop- 
ing down the stairs. She then came out of the 
closet, locked her door, and sat down to study up a 
scheme for nipping the plan of serenading in the 
bud, as Mim Brown had prophesied she would do. 
After awhile she clapped her hands with delight, 
and went in search of Hester. She drew her face 
down into solemn lines and complained of severe 
headache, and begged Hester to come and sleep 


82 


As Stars in Their Places . 


in her room that night. It was Hallowe’en, and 
she was so nervous, and afraid of their pranks, but 
didn’t want the other girls to know, so, if Hester 
would come up just after supper and stay with her, 
she would be so glad. 

Hester promised, and Dell hurried away to find 
the other girls, and plead headache as an excuse 
for withdrawing from the numerous pranks she 
usually took part in. 

She and Hester retired early, and Hester, tired 
from the day’s work, soon slept soundly. Then 
Dell, creeping out of bed, filled the wash-bowl with 
water from her pitcher and carried it to the end 
of the long hall, where Mrs. Brady had a closet for 
bedclothing. She crept into the closet, shut the 
door, and raised the window that looked down 
upon the back yard; she then poised the bowl on 
the window-ledge and waited. She did not have 
long to wait, for the serenaders had decided to 
make their starting-point by Hester’s window. 
Dell heard them clear their throats and begin : 

“Hush, little Hester, don’t you cry. 

You’ll he a huckster by and by; 

You’ll be a huckster, you’ll be n huckster, 

You’ll be a huckster by and by.” 

They started to repeat the chorus, and Dell had 
tipped the bowl to give them a shower bath, but it 
slipped from her fingers and went crashing down in 
their midst. She heard a smothered howl of rage 
and pain and the crash of the bowl on the cement 
walk, then she closed the window cautiously and 
fled to her room. She lay awake half the night 
with feelings of wicked delight mingled with un- 


As Stars in Tlieir Places. 


83 


easiness. In the gray dawn she dressed, and, slip- 
ping noiselessly out of the house, ran down the 
street to where a dealer in hardware and notions 
lived back of his store. She aroused him with her 
hurried rapping, and, after selecting a bowl like 
Mrs. Brady used in her rooms, she handed him a 
five-dollar bill, asking him to break the odd pitcher 
or put it out of sight ; to keep the bill and say noth- 
ing about it. The old man nodded knowingly, and 
chuckled over his bargain, for it was a seventy-five- 
cent set. 

Dell was innocently making her toilet when 
Hester awoke, greatly refreshed from the rest in a 
comfortable bed, but, fearing that she had over- 
slept by being so far from the noise of the kitchen, 
she hurried downstairs, and waited on the table 
with such a bright face that the members of the 
club looked wonderingly at each other. Keith Car- 
roll carried a huge black lump over his right eye, 
and refused to answer Dell’s anxious inquiries 
with regard to it. Later in the day, a committee of 
investigation from the serenading party waited on 
the old hardware man, asking if he had an odd 
pitcher belonging to a wash-set, and if he had sold 
an odd bowl lately. 

The old man showed them through his stock, 
until they were satisfied, and wisely held his peace, 
for he knew when he had made a good bargain, so 
the shower-bath remained a mystery. 

In the weeks that followed, Dell Duncan gradu- 
ally won Keith Carroll over to her way of think- 
ing, that Hester Hinkle was a worthy young lady, 
and deserved much better treatment than she was 


84 


As Stars in Their Places . 


receiving. It was not hard for Dell to influence 
Keith, for they were the best of friends, and Keith 
admired the merry-hearted girl more than any 
other girl he had ever known. His handsome, aris- 
tocratic mother admired her, too, and used every 
means in her power to bring them together, for 
Judge Duncan’s only daughter was in every way a 
desirable companion for her handsome son. At 
first, Hester resented his kindness, but when she 
found it was really genuine, she forgave past of- 
fenses. She looked on him as Dell Duncan’s right- 
ful property, as did every one else at Delmar Col- 
lege. She felt that it was right for her to accept 
the little attentions that Dell prompted him to pay 
to her, and her pleasures were so few that she 
could not afford to refuse those that came to her. 

Hester found Sunday a hard day at the club. 
On account of the late breakfast and extra courses 
at dinner, there was little time for her to attend 
church services. Once Dell had prevailed upon 
her to accompany her to the fine church which she 
attended, but Hester felt so miserably out of place 
in her plain clothing, that Dell gave up asking her 
to go there, but one Sunday afternoon she came to 
Hester’s room in the plainer clothing she wore 
during the week, and said, “Get your Bible, and 
put on your hat quick, and go with me up to the 
mission school. Professor Rice asked me to go 
and teach a class, and I dread it so much.” Hester 
went with her, and found herself appointed as 
teacher of a class of disreputable-looking boys. 
She taught the lesson the best she could, but felt 
that she had made a dismal failure of it. 


As Stars in Their Places. 


85 


She went the next Sunday from a sense of duty, 
and found a new boy added to her list, a boy so 
hopelessly ragged and dirty that the worst-looking 
boy of the previous Sunday edged away from 
him, leaving him in possession of one end of the 
seat. He gave his name as Dasy Miller, and when 
she asked him a question, he sat staring at her help- 
lessly, while the other boys shouted In concert a 
line from the popular song that had found its way 
even to the slums: 

“Daisy, Daisy, give him your answer, do.’* 

Hester looked around in consternation to see the 
effect of this outburst, but in the general uproar 
it had not attracted any attention, each teacher 
having enough to do to attend to his own class. 
She felt a thrill of pity for the ignorant, hopeless- 
looking little fellow. 

In explaining it to Dell, she said : “I know how 
to sympathize with him, for he is just as far behind 
the ways of the mission school as I am behind the 
ways of your fine Central Church.” 

Professor Rice gave his time to superintend the 
mission school, and was often grieved at the light 
way in which the college students treated their 
opportunity for doing good here. Often the little 
organ was unopened, because no one came to play, 
and the professor’s voice had a trick of failing 
him when he tried to lead the music, but after 
Hester came it was all different. She played the 
simple songs, leading them herself with a clear, 
sweet voice. The people came to hear the music, 
and stayed for the lesson. 


86 


As Stars in Their Places . 


Dell Duncan visited the mission fitfully. She 
did not care for it ; for the large, luxurious church, 
with its well-trained choir, was much more to her 
taste, but she could not bear the look of distress 
that came into Professor Rice’s dark eyes when she 
tried to excuse herself from duty. She would feel 
rebellious at the thought of going just to please the 
plain professor, then with strange inconsistency 
she would feel her heart bound with pleas- 
ure at the light of approval which she saw in his 
eyes when she tried to take up her work and feel 
an interest in it. She found it easier going with 
Hester. Hester was not an enthusiastic reformer, 
but she was a conscientious one. 

The boys in Hester’s class grew quieter and list- 
ened to the lesson which she made so interesting, 
and poor, little, half-witted Dasy looked on her as 
an angel of mercy. She could not feel that she was 
really helping him, and at times his adoring, wor- 
shipful gaze almost frightened her. 

The little mission church soon came to look upon 
her as their own special property, and from doing 
the work from a sense of duty, it soon came to be 
a pleasure. 


As Stars in Their Places . 


87 


CHAPTER V. 

One day late in November, when Hester had car- 
ried her books up to Dell’s room to study, she 
found the occupant of the room lying upon the 
couch with her face buried in a pillow, sobbing in 
a heart-broken way. She dropped her books and 
ran to her, thinking that something dreadful had 
happened. 

Dell sat with red eyes and disheveled hair. “It’s 
nothing, nothing at all,” she answered to Hester’s 
anxious questions. “I’d like to just know how you 
keep from crying, Hester Hinkle, when everything 
goes wrong. I never saw you cry yet, and I know 
you have more excuse for crying than I have.” 

“Aunt Martha broke me of the silly habit,” Hes- 
ter answered. 

Dell had heard all about Aunt Martha, and 
asked eagerly, “How did she do it? I wish you 
would tell me, for I’m such a baby.” 

“Aunt Martha never believed in crying, and she 
taught me never to cry over anything I could help, 
and never to cry over anything I couldn’t help, and 
that took away about all excuse for crying at all ; 
and she always wound up her lecture by saying, 
‘Cryin’ is mighty hard work and mighty pore pay, 
I’ll tell you,’ and as I grew older I found it was 
true.” 

Dell laughed over the quaint lesson, and ex- 
plained her grievance. She was taking a special 
course in literature to please her father and Pro- 
fessor Rice. She didn’t care a single bit for it, and 


88 


As Stars in Their Places. 


did not want to be literary ; but they had persisted 
in believing that she had talent, and to-day Pro- 
fessor Rice had asked the class to write original 
stories on the endowment fund, offering a prize of 
fifteen dollars for the best, which would be used as 
a leaflet in behalf of the college. “I can’t do it,” 
she said ; “I’ve tried all afternoon, and I just can’t 
think of a single thing only that silly old autograph 
album verse that ended with ‘There’s nothing origi- 
nal in me, excepting original sin,’ and I won’t try 
it, so there. I don’t care for their fifteen dollars, 
but I don’t want Professor Rice to be disappointed 
in me. I can’t bear for him to find out that I 
haven’t one bit of talent.” 

Hester was thinking of the fifteen dollars, and 
how much it would mean to her. She had seen 
only the other day, in a shop window, a shaggy 
beaver coat, fur-topped gloves, and heavy felt 
shoes; the outfit was marked fifteen dollars. She 
had thought then of how badly her father needed 
such things on his long, cold drives over the coun- 
try. If it was only possible for her to win the prize 
and take them home at Christmas, how proud she 
would be! 

Finally she said: “Dell, let me do it for you, 
and if it wins the prize, let me have the money, 
and you can have the honors.” 

Dell looked at her aghast, but she continued: 
“I know it would be dishonest, and I do not believe 
I was ever tempted to do anything dishonest 
before, but I want the money so badly for Christ- 
mas, and you want the honor.” 

Dell still hesitated, and Hester said: “Maybe 


As Stars in Their Places . 


89 


you think I couldn’t do it. It wouldn’t be the first 
story I ever wrote, and Professor Earle used to 
say I showed decided talent too. Do you know, 
Dell Duncan, why I came to college, why I work so 
hard to stay here, and why I put up with all the 
slights and snubbing the other students have felt 
called upon to give me, just because I am poor, 
and have to work my way through? Well, I can 
tell you. It is because I long to learn to write a 
great book, that will do good in the world. I want 
to do some great thing, and I felt that I could do 
it if I only had an education, and I am willing to 
endure anything for the sake of the work I long 
to do. Now you know what has kept me up 
through it all. When Mim Brown has been 
especially aggravating, I have thought in a pity- 
ing way, ‘You poor, shallow-brained thing, you 
couldn’t write a book if you took forty college 
courses.’ And when Lou Martin has boasted that 
her ancestors were all Eastern people, and has 
turned up her mite of a nose at the Hoosiers and 
common working people, I have said to myself, 
‘Show her, Hester Hinkle, what a Hoosier can do, 
and that genius may spring from the common 
people.’ ” 

Dell Duncan clapped her hands with delight, 
then hugged Hester closely as she paused with 
shining eyes, then said : “You dear old close- 
mouthed thing ! Why didn’t you ever tell me that 
I was chumming with a genius? If you will only 
look like this [whirling her in front of the mirror], 
and talk like you’ve been doing, and write like 
you intend to do, you will have the world at your 


90 


As Stars in Their Places. 


feet, and Dell Duncan for your adoring servant.” 
But before Dell had finished her burst of enthu- 
siasm, the glow had faded from Hester’s cheek, 
and she was her quiet self again. 

All the next week Hester worked until late at 
night, writing and rewriting the story, until she 
thought it was as good as it was possible for her 
to make it, then Dell copied it in her own beautiful 
handwriting and handed it in for the contest, feel- 
ing that Professor Rice could see the deception 
with his clear eyes. 

One morning in the first week in December, at 
the close of the lesson in literature, the decision of 
the judges was given, and Dell Duncan was called 
forward to receive the prize. 

Professor Rice was proud of his pupil, who had 
shown even greater ability than he had given her 
credit for. He gave the story warm, heartfelt 
praise, and took the deep flush that spread over 
Dell’s face merely as a sign of girlish modesty. 
Dell hurried from the room, and went in search of 
Hester. When she found her, she gave her the 
money, saying : “I feel like I had acted the part of 
Judas, only worse. I have deceived my father 
and the best of teachers, and have done injustice 
to my best friend, all for fifteen pieces of silver.” 

But Hester answered bravely : “You did it from 
an honest desire to give pleasure to others. It was 
I who did the wrong for the silver. I am sorry I 
tempted you, Dell.” 

Both felt miserable over the deception, and did 
not speak of the prize money again. 

Dell went with Hester to the city to make their 


As Stars in Their Places. 


91 


Christmas purchases. She had supposed that 
Hester had coveted the money to buy some girlish 
finery, but when she saw the great coat, the gloves 
and boots wrapped in a huge bundle, and the 
whole amount of the prize given freely for them, 
she felt the hot tears rush to her eyes, for she now 
knew that Hester’s story had been a labor of love, 
and that hers was the greater sin. 


92 


As Stars in Their Places . 


CHAPTER VI. 

As the Christmas season drew near, the festiv- 
ities of the college life began. Several receptions 
were in progress, and Hester thought bitterly 
of the evening dress and opera cape for which she 
would have no use. She wondered how she would 
explain it to Miss Mollie. 

One morning Keith Carroll came and asked her 
to accompany him to a large fraternity reception. 
She gave him one quick glance, then said, “Tell 
Dell Duncan I thank her very much for her kind- 
ness, but I prefer staying at home.” 

Keith colored guiltily under the keen look, for 
Dell had persuaded him, much against his will, to 
give the invitation, and, murmuring an apology, he 
hurried away. When he had time to think it over, 
he admired her spirit, and the quick refusal she had 
given, and when he was given an invitation to the 
reception of the sorority of which Dell was a prom- 
inent member, with the privilege of selecting his 
own company, he went straight to Hester. 

“I will not take a refusal this time,” he said. 
“You can just ask Dell Duncan if she had a 
precious thing to do with it.” 

Dell came to his rescue at once, and Hester 
laughingly agreed to go with him. 

Dell spent sleepless hours worrying how Hester 
would dress. She loved her dearly, but shrank 
from having her appear at the brilliant reception 
in the plain black dress that had done duty as best 


As Stars in Their Places. 


93 


all winter. She asked her to come to her room that 
they might dress together, hoping that in some 
way she might brighten her costume by the loan 
of some lace or ribbons. 

When the time for dressing came, Hester coiled 
her wavy dark hair high on her shapely head, slip- 
ped into the shimmering gray dress, then turned 
from DelPs mirror with a flush on her cheeks and a 
light in her dark eyes, and Dell fairly shrieked 
with delight. 

Keith sent up a dozen lovely, dark red carna- 
tions, and when Hester had fastened them in her 
hair and on her bosom, and had put on the soft 
gray cape with its rich lining around her shoul- 
ders, Dell felt that she would have a rival in beauty 
for one evening, but was generous enough to be 
glad. 

DelPs father had come to accompany her home 
for the holidays, and she was proud to introduce 
her friend to him. She had written to him all 
about Hester, and he had approved of the friend- 
ship with her. She had feared that Hester would 
feel timid when she introduced her handsome, 
stately father, but, to her surprise, Hester seemed 
quite at ease in his presence, for he reminded her 
of Professor Earle, and she felt no fear. 

Keith Carroll started in surprise when the door 
was opened for him by this apparition of loveliness, 
for, like Dell, he had felt some fears over her ap- 
pearance at the reception. He felt now that his 
fears had been groundless, for, as he reasoned 
with boyish logic, he had always known that she 
was a handsome girl, and he might have known 


94 


As Stars in Their Places. 


that she would look perfectly stunning in an even- 
ing dress. 

Hester leaned back in the cab, and drew a sigh 
of contentment as they were drawn swiftly through 
the street by the spirited horses. She laughed 
softly to herself when she contrasted this with her 
last drive, coming from home in the huckster 
wagon, drawn by Dan De. 

The large reception hall looked like a veritable 
fairy-land to Hester: she had never seen such a 
gathering of handsomely costumed people. The 
flash of lights, and the beauty and the perfume 
of the flowers, filled her with exquisite delight. 
Keith escorted her down the long hall enjoying 
the many glances of wonder that were turned upon 
his companion, who, all-unconscious of the notice 
she attracted, walked by his side with her head 
erect, and eyes bright with happy excitement. 

The boys all agreed that the little huckster (as 
they called her among themselves) had blossomed 
into a wonderfully good-looking young lady. 

Some of the girls were generous enough to ac- 
knowledge the wonderful change, while others said 
spiteful things about her thrusting herself in with 
her betters; but Hester felt no slights to-night. 

Keith was very attentive, and Dell came to her 
often, to keep her from feeling lonely; and the 
music, oh, the music ! It was what she had 
dreamed of and longed for all her life. She stood 
near the screen of palms that hid Matilini, the 
harpist, and while others, who were accustomed 
to his music, chatted and laughed, she listened 
with her whole soul. Matilini watched her with 


As Stars in Their Places. 


95 


approving eyes, seeing the rapt attention she gave 
to his music. So few of the people for whom he 
played ever really listened. He was just a part 
of the decorations, like the screen of palms. It 
was sweet, so sweet, to find a listener in all that 
great crowd, and he played for her alone, played 
as he had not played since he had come from 
his beloved Italy. Once, when she had moved 
away for a time, he missed her, and had asked 
Keith Carroll, “Where iz zee lady, zee beeyutiful 
lady, in zee dress,” motioning toward his breast 
and over his arms, and Keith had brought her 
back to Matilini’s corner, telling her laughingly 
of the compliment. 

Suddenly there was a stir near the door, and 
people turned to see a ruddy-faced, white-haired 
man entering the hall. Dell Duncan grasped the 
situation in a moment; it was Hester’s father. 
Hester had told her he was coming to-morrow to 
take her home, and he had come to-night and was 
looking for Hester. Dell clasped her hands tight- 
ly to keep from showing her agitation. She was 
standing between Keith and her own handsome 
father, and she watched to see how Hester would 
stand the surprise. 

Hester was the last person in the room to notice 
his entrance. When the music stopped, she turned 
toward the door and saw him. She caught her 
breath hard for one instant, then started down 
the length of the hall alone. She walked quickly 
toward the door with glad love-light shining in her 
eyes, and the old man waited for her with an anx- 
ious look on his face. When she reached him, 


96 As Stars in Their Places. 

she placed her hands on his shoulders and kissed 
him, pouring out glad words of welcome, forgetting 
the people who were watching. 

Hiram Hinkle stood holding her hand, as if he 
feared he would lose her again, and gazed into 
her bright face with eyes filled with pride. 

Dell drew a quick breath of relief, and said, “If 
she had failed in giving him a welcome, I think I 
should have hated her,” then, turning to her fa- 
ther and Keith, she said, “Now let’s go and help 
her.” 

Keith hesitated a moment, and then excused him- 
self, for he had seen the boys watching to see how 
he would take the surprise, and his courage failed 
him. Dell gave him one scornful look, then crossed 
the room with her father. 

Hiram Hinkle was glad to meet Hester’s friends ; 
he felt that he knew Dell quite well already from 
his daughter’s letters home. Judge Duncan soon 
drew him into conversation, and found him an in- 
teresting talker, and the reception went on as if 
nothing unusual had occurred. 

Hester’s father had explained to her that he had 
come a day sooner than he had intended, and being 
told that she was at a reception, and “seein’ as he 
had his Sunday clothes on, thought he’d just step 
over and see how they carried on.” He wanted 
to start home early in the morning, and he thought 
they had best not stay late at the reception. 

Hester did not see Keith Carroll again. In the 
excitement of seeing her father, she had not noticed 
any lack of attention on his part, and when her 
father thought that it was time for them to go, 


As Stars in Their Places . 


97 


she sent Dell to thank Keith for his kindness and 
to excuse her, saying that she was going back to 
her room with her father. Whereupon Keith drew 
a breath of relief. 

While Hester had gone for her wraps, Hiram 
Hinkle turned to the patroness who had received 
him when he came. He looked proudly after his 
daughter as she ascended the long stairway, and 
said : “I felt kind o’ juberous about sendin’ Hettie 
away to college. I was afraid she might feel her- 
self above her old father, but, la! I might ’a’ 
know T ed better. Hettie always was a good child, 
and so like her mother ; she always wanted an edu- 
cation, and didn’t get it, and she made me promise 
that I’d try to give Hettie a chance. I was afraid 
it might make ag’inst her, havin’ to work for her 
board and wear her old clothes, but I see it ain’t 
made no difference with you folks, and I’m mighty 
proud to have met you,” and he held out his hand 
to bid her good-by. 

Mrs. Van Tassell clasped the rough hand with 
her jeweled one, as she said heartily, “You have 
a daughter that any one might be proud of.” 

As she bade Hester good night, she whispered, 
“Be good to your father, dear,” and Hester won- 
dered at the tears in her beautiful eyes, for she 
could not know that the talk with her father had 
brought to Mrs. Van Tassell memories of her own 
kind-hearted, awkward old father, who had made a 
fortune, and then died opportunely, leaving the 
fortune to her without the incumbrance. 


98 


As Stars in Their Places . 


CHAPTER VII. 

In the gray dawn of the early morning Hester 
went up to Dell’s room to say good-by; then she 
and her father started for Brandt’s Crossing, in 
the huckster wagon drawn by Dan Da 

On the way her father told her of the death of 
John Hart’s father. 

“Just died settin’ in his chair,” he said. “He’d 
been talkin’ with John about his work, and some 
plans for a new route in the spring. John took 
his death awful hard, but I told him he ought to 
be thankful his father went so quiet without any 
suffering. Seems to me that’s such a blessed way 
to die, just to lay down your work when you can’t 
do it justice any more, and go home.” 

Hester was sorry for John in his bereavement, 
but the thought came: “Now he can have the op- 
portunity to get an education too.” 

When they came in sight of the village it seemed 
to Hester that it had surely dwindled in size, and 
the houses looked small and shabby ; she had never 
noticed it before. But the hearty welcome await- 
ing her made her feel ashamed of the thoughts 
that had come at first sight of her home. 

She did not remember ever seeing Aunt Martha 
so moved before. The good soul would not ac- 
knowledge that they had needed her at home at all, 
but said : “It seemed still without Hettie’s tongue 
forever a-runnin’.” 

Hester could see by the light in her father’s 
eyes how glad he was to have her at home. To 


As Stars in Their Places . 99 

the neighbors and friends who flocked in to see 
her, she was the same sweet, unspoiled girl, and 
those who had prophesied dire things of Hiram 
Hinkle’s course in sending his daughter away to 
school, now wagged their heads proudly as they 
said : “I told you it wouldn’t spile Hettie to edju- 
cate her ; she ain’t one of them kind that ever thinks 
herself above old friends.” 

Hester told Miss Mollie all about the reception, 
with its music, lights and flowers, its crowd of 
handsome, well-dressed people. Miss Mollie’s face 
glowed with pleasure as she listened. 

“Now you see I was right,” she said, as she 
nodded knowingly. “I told you you would need 
an evening dress and wrap for them big occasions, 
and I’ll venture there wasn’t a prettier girl there 
than you, and I’m proud I had the chance of mak- 
ing one fine evening dress in my life; it’s ’most as 
good as being in things myself.” 

It seemed good to see Mrs. Talbot and Professor 
Earle, and tell them of her work. It was gratifying 
to see their looks of pride as she told them of the 
words of praise Dr. Phelps had spoken of the 
excellent training she had received at home. 

When she walked home from Professor Earle’s 
with John Hart, the last evening of her vacation, 
they took the river road and stopped on the bridge 
for a last talk. 

Hester asked John when he intended going away 
to school, and he answered gravely : “I have given 
it all up.” 

“I knew you would think it strange,” he said as 
he saw her look of surprise. “Sometimes I think 


L.of 0. 


100 


As Stars in Their Places . 


so myself when I remember how I longed to go 
when I knew it was impossible. I hope you will 
not think me vain when I tell you I know that I 
am needed here. While so many go away to pre- 
pare themselves for some great work in the world, 
the work near at hand is neglected. The people 
on my route watch for my coming, and I try to help 
them in every way I can. I find so many little 
things that I can do that is a great help to them, 
and I know that I can be a help to the little church. 
We are having a hard struggle to hold our own 
now, and a few members less would mean death 
to the church. I feel that my place is here, and 
I intend to stay.” 

When he paused, Hester said impetuously: “I 
am disappointed in you, John Hart. How can you 
give up your hopes and ambitions so easily? I 
had thought you were made of better stuff than to 
yield for fear of a few pangs of conscience.” 

He winced with pain at her words, and found 
himself wondering if she would have thought it 
easy to fight the battle that he had fought between 
inclination and duty, but he did not tell her all. 

Then she told him what she had kept back from 
the others, of the mistreatment she had endured, 
and expected to still endure, for the sake of the 
education she craved. 

He turned toward her with a look of pain on his 
handsome face as he said : “I can’t bear for you to 
suffer so. Don’t go away again ; stay here at home 
where every one loves and respects you.” 

She laughed brokenly as she said: “Why, John, 


As Stars in Their Places . 


101 


you wouldn’t rejoice with me. Why are you sorry 
for me?” 

Then, in his honest, straightforward way, he told 
her all that he had hoped for their future; of the 
love that had grown stronger and stronger, as he 
saw her going away from him into a larger, fuller 
life. 

Hester stood looking down at the sullen, moan- 
ing river, that struggled with the icy barriers that 
checked its progress. She felt a sudden bitter 
resentment toward this friend of her childhood, 
who was asking her to give up her cherished hopes 
because his own ambition was crushed. She 
would not listen ; she would be like the river below, 
breaking away from everything that tried to check 
her progress. 

When she turned to him again, he seemed to read 
her thoughts in her open countenance, and said 
sadly : “I see that I was wrong ; I had no right to 
ask you to give it all up for ma I had resolved 
never to tell you of my love, unless I could hope to 
be your equal, but when you told me all that you 
had suffered I forgot my resolutions. I am sorry 
that I have pained you ; I will never speak of this 
again, but if at any time you should grow disheart- 
ened or weary of the other life, and your heart 
should turn to me, you will know that I am still un- 
changed, for my love for you shall be just as strong 
and steady as the flow of this dear old river that 
we have both loved all our lives.” 

He held out his hand to her, and as she said good- 
by, she felt the bitterness leave her heart, and in 


f 


102 As Stars in Their Places. 

its place swept a great wave of pity and respect 
for the love she could not return. 

The next day she rode again to college in the 
huckster wagon. Only a few of the students had 
returned from their holidays, so no comments were 
made on their arrival. 

When Hester kissed her father at parting, her 
heart ached over the lonely look that came into his 
eyes. She clung to him as if she would never let 
him go, but at last he pulled her arms loose in a 
playful way as he said : “Pshaw, now ! you’ll make 
such a baby of me I’ll never stand it to go home 
without you, if you ain’t careful. Let’s just think 
it won’t be long till summer, and then I can have 
you all the time.” Then, with an affectionate pat 
on her shoulder, he climbed into the wagon and 
drove quickly away. 


As Stars in Their Places . 


103 


CHAPTER VIII. 

The work at the club seemed harder to Hester 
after the week at home under Aunt Martha’s in- 
dulgent care. The little room, warmed only from 
the long dining-room that had no heat to spare, 
was cold and uncomfortable. 

Her heart ached over the loss of John Hart’s 
friendship, for she felt that they could never again 
feel the same, after John had told her of his hopes. 

Keith Carroll, remembering his cowardly deser- 
tion of her at the reception, acted shy and unlike 
himself. 

Dell Duncan was busy with her studies, for it 
was her last year in college. She was trying to 
do some extra work, and Hester did not feel free 
to go to her room as often as had been her custom. 

In January, a revival meeting was started at the 
mission church, and Professor Rice asked her to 
play, and lead the singing for them. 

She felt that she could not refuse his earnest re- 
quest, so she hurried with her lessons in the short 
afternoons, that she might go with him to help 
the people who had so few pleasures in life. 

One morning, she arose feeling that she did not 
have the strength to go through with the day’s 
duties. Her head throbbed painfully, and at noon 
Raphael, seeing how pale she looked, said, “I 
wouldn’t go in the dinin’-room to wait on them 
’streperous young students, Miss Hester; ’deed I 
wouldn’t; you jes’ look like a ghost; I’ll see if I 
kain’t manage ’em once,” 


104 


As Stars in Their Places . 


Hester would not listen to his kindly reason- 
ing; she knew that Mrs. Brady found plenty for 
him to do, without his taking her place. 

Keith and Dell were late to dinner, and the mem- 
bers of the club, seeing that her champions were not 
present, treated her with less respect than usual, 
making rude jokes at her expense. 

She waited on them patiently, and was chang- 
ing the dishes for dessert. She had lifted the 
heavy tray to carry it to the kitchen, when one of 
the boys called out, “I am in a hurry, so please 
wait on me first, Miss Huckster; oh, beg pardon, 
Miss Hinkle.” 

Some of the ruder ones laughed at his wit, but 
Hester turned white, staggered blindly and fell, 
letting the tray of dishes crash down at the feet 
of Dell and Keith, who had just come in. 

Dell gave a cry of alarm and knelt by her side, 
while the students left the table and stood looking 
on with frightened faces. 

“Why don’t some of you help me?” cried Dell, 
imperiously. “Keith, you and Jack Brown carry 
her up to my room, and, Jasper Dean, run as fast 
as you can go for Dr. Gray.” 

Jasper Dean was glad to do something, for his 
conscience was stinging him over his insolent wit 
that he felt had caused Hester to give way. 

When Dr. Gray came, he found his patient con- 
scious, but very weak. He gave her careful atten- 
tion, prescribing perfect quiet, and strictly for- 
bidding any work whatever, for a time. 

Dell followed him to the lower hall, and there 
found the Brady Club waiting anxiously for the 


As Stars in Their Places. 


105 


doctor’s decision. To their inquiries, he answered 
gravely, “She is suffering from nervous trouble 
brought on by overwork and worry of some kind.” 

He glanced at them kindly, and Mim Brown sank 
down on the lower step of the stairway, saying, 
“Oh, I never dreamed that she took all our thought- 
less remarks to heart, and I’m so ashamed and 
sorry,” and she fell to sobbing aloud. 

Then followed a general season of confession, 
with good Dr. Gray acting as father confessor. He 
listened to it all gravely, then said : “I am sorry for 
the poor girl. I was a poor boy in college once; 
I carried slops and sawed wood for my board, 
and I can have some idea of what she has endured. 
I am extremely sorry for you young people who 
have acted in so thoughtless a manner ; my patient 
will not die, and you have the rest of the year to 
make up for what has passed. I think kindness 
will prove as beneficial in her case as any of the 
medicines I have left.” 

He passed on out of the hall, and left them plan- 
ning what they would do to show their sympathy 
and regret. Those who had been rude to Hester 
felt no worse than did Keith and Dell. Keith re- 
proached himself for his neglect of her, and Dell 
remembered the days when she had left her to study 
in the cheerless little room, while she sat alone in 
her luxurious apartments. Hester’s first thought 
was of her father, and she begged Dell to not let 
him know of her illness. Dell promised, and after 
she had seen that Hester was comfortable and rest- 
ing well, she went in search of Mrs. Brady, and 
asked that Hester’s belongings might be moved up 


100 


As Stars in Their Places. 


to her room. “I have a perfect right to ask it,” she 
said, in her convincing way. “Father has always 
paid double the price of your rooms because I did 
not want a roommate, and now that I want one it’s 
just the same to you as if she paid; and another 
thing, I want to do her work in the dining-room 
until she is able to go back.” 

Mrs. Brady objected to this, saying that she knew 
Miss Dell’s father would not allow it. 

Dell silenced her by saying, “Father lets me do 
just as I please at home, and Fll do the same here.” 
So it was settled. 

The next morning the club was surprised at be- 
ing waited on by Dell, looking very demure, but 
with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. When they 
questioned her, she answered, “Mrs. Brady is let- 
ting me fill Hester’s place until she can come back, 
and don’t you dare let her know what I am doing ; 
she must think I am doing extra work at the library 
while I am in here.” 

In the days that followed, the Brady Club tried 
in every way to make things pleasant for Hester, 
the girls going every day to read for her. 

At first they felt shy, but Hester was too weak 
and tired to show resentment for past offenses, 
and when she saw that their sympathy was genu- 
ine, she became so gentle and lovable that they lost 
their fear of her and found the time spent in Dell’s 
room very pleasant. 

The room was fragrant with the flowers that the 
boys sent, and Hester never tired of them, but the 
flowers that gave her most pleasure were Keith 
Carroll’s offering, which he sent each day, with 


As Stars irt Their Places. 16 ? 

always a tiny note of good wishes or some quaint 
remark that brightened the whole day. 

Sometimes Hester watched Dell closely when she 
brought in Keith’s flowers, but Dell was always 
her merry self and did not seem to care. 

Professor Rice came with an anxious look on 
his face, reproaching himself bitterly for his 
thoughtlessness in not seeing that it was asking 
too much for her to go every evening to the mission, 
after performing all her other duties. 

When he praised her work, and gave her the lov- 
ing messages the people sent, Hester saw a cloud 
come over Dell’s sunny countenance, and thought 
perhaps Dell was a bit envious of the praise that 
Professor Rice gave her work, and when he was 
starting away she begged Dell to go with him to 
play and sing for the meeting. She said : “I don’t 
mind at all staying alone; I am so sorry about 
giving up my work, and I would be so glad if you 
would go in my place until I am well again.” So 
Dell took her place at the little church, and was so 
happy and interested in her work that Professor 
Rice was delighted. 

In the meantime, Dell waited on the table and 
dried dishes until her pretty hands were red and 
rough. The other members of the club were con- 
siderate of their new waiter, and she made no com- 
plaint, but she was glad when Mrs. Brady came in 
one day at dish-washing time, and, taking the towel 
from her hands, told her she need not dry the dishes 
any more. 

Dell relinquished the towel without a murmur, 
but at the door she paused and called back : “Oh, 


108 


As Stars in Their Places. 


Mrs. Brady, you mean that Hester won’t have to 
dry the dishes any more when she comes down. I 
hadn’t thought of that, but of course if she rooms 
with me, her waiting on table will be enough for 
her board; I’m so glad you thought of it; it was 
so good and kind of you.” And, coming back, she 
gave Mrs. Brady a sounding kiss on her broad, red 
face. 

Mrs. Brady dared not raise any objections to this 
new arrangement (although she knew she would 
have to hire more help in the kitchen), for Judge 
Duncan’s daughter was her best roomer, and the 
life of the Brady Club. 

When Dell knew she was well out of sight in the 
hall, she took out her handkerchief and wiped her 
pretty mouth. “Ugh,” she said, with a shudder, 
“it’s so disagreeable to blarney some people.” 

When Hester had fully recovered her strength 
and went downstairs, it seemed like going into a 
different life. The girls were kind, and tried to 
make her feel that she was one of their number, 
and the boys were as courteous to her as they were 
to Dell Duncan. She received all their attentions 
in her quiet, lady-like way, but clung all the closer 
to Dell, her first friend. She was glad to be rid of 
the dish-drying, and she found it easier to study 
in Dell’s comfortable room. 

The last days of January passed pleasantly, and, 
beginning the new month, Hester felt that with her 
renewed strength and the pleasant friendships she 
could do more and better work than she had ever 
done. Her teachers were kind, and her eager mind 


As Stars m Their Places. 


109 


grasped the lessons they taught, and made them 
her own. 

She was with Dell and Keith constantly, and 
found the companionship very pleasant, and her 
friends, in turn, saw new beauties in her character 
every day. 

One day early in March, Dell came into the din- 
ing-room at noon with a worried look on her face. 
She spoke to Mrs. Brady a moment, then called 
Hester to her, and gave her a note, telling her that 
a young man was waiting in the hall to see her. 

Hester turned pale as she recognized Aunt Mar- 
tha’s precise writing. Her hand trembled until 
she could hardly hold the paper to read the lines 
asking her to come home, for her father was sick. 

“Don’t be worried,” she added at the last; “he 
Is not dangerous sick. Dr. Talbot says he had a 
stroke, and he doesn’t seem to get over it very 
quick. He didn’t want me to write or send for you, 
but I had promised and I always keep my word.” 

Hester went into the hall, and found John Hart 
waiting for her. In her anxiety for her father, 
she had forgotten their last meeting, remembering 
only the old days of their friendship. This made 
the meeting easier for both. 

She never remembered how she got ready for the 
trip home. It was Dell who packed her trunk, and 
attended to everything. The Brady Club showed 
their sympathy for her, by flocking around her at 
parting, with kindly wishes that she might find her 
father better, and that she might soon return. 

Dell and Keith were the last to bid her good-by, 
and as she looked back at the turn in the drive, 


110 


As Stars in Their Places . 


she could see them standing on the steps of the 
college building waving their hands to her. 

John tried to be cheerful on the dreary 
drive home, but Hester would not be com- 
forted. She had never known her father to 
be sick, and she could not imagine what home 
would be like. Then came the terrible thought, 
what would life be like if he should be taken from 
her, the kind old father who had guided her and 
cared for her ever since she could remember? 

When they reached home, and she had started 
towards the house, she remembered that she had 
not thanked John for his kindness. She turned 
and held out her hand to him, but she could not 
utter one word. Something seemed clutching at 
her throat, until it choked her; but John under- 
stood. 

When she opened the door, Aunt Martha met 
her with loving embrace, and there was father in 
his arm-chair, with a glad smile of welcome on his 
face. She ran to him, and, kneeling by his side, 
sobbed out all the miserable fear and heartache 
she had kept under restraint during the long drive. 

He smoothed her hair awkwardly with his left 
hand, for the strong right arm hung helpless by 
his side, but he comforted and soothed her, as he 
had done when she was a little child, telling her 
that the doctor said he would soon be about again 
and as good as ever. 

He seemed so bright and cheerful that Hester 
felt her heart grow light, and she was soon making 
sunshine about the old house, and helping Aunt 
Martha make things comfortable for father. 


As Stars in Their Places . 


Ill 


CHAPTER IX. 

Days passed and Hiram Hinkle did not regain 
his strength. The hand that had battled against 
the rough old world for so long still lay helpless 
by his side. The neighbors came in through the 
day and found him cheerful, but they could not 
know of the long nights when he lay awake trying 
to solve the problem of what would become of Het- 
tie, now that he could not work. Aunt Martha 
had a comfortable living of her own, and had just 
moved from her own little home to help him raise 
his motherless little girl. He had saved enough 
money to pay for their home, but had depended 
on his work for their living and for Hettie’s edu- 
cation. He was beginning to lose hope of ever 
being again the same strong man he had been, and 
he dreaded seeing the look of disappointment come 
over Hettie’s face when she found that she could 
not go back to college. 

One night Hester was aroused by some sound, 
and was soon wide awake. She had left the door 
ajar between her room and her father’s so that 
he might call to her if he needed anything. She 
listened, but father was not calling her; he was 
praying, and in his earnestness was praying aloud. 
She heard him say : “ O Lord, if you will only give 
me back my strength for a few years — I can’t give 
up now. The little girl can’t have her edjucation 
without money, and I can’t bear to see her disap- 
pointed, when she’s been so good and patient. O 
Lord, you took her mother away, and I’ve been as 


112 


As Stars in Their Places. 


brave as I could, and tried to say, ‘Thy will be 
done/ I’ve took care of the little girl, and tried 
to raise her right. Surely, Lord, you won’t leave 
me here helpless and let her suffer, for we can’t 
live long this way, without my work. Please give 
me patience, but, O Lord! don’t make me lay 
around this way ’til I lose my route.” And he 
ended the beseeching words with a dry sob of 
anguish. 

Hester’s first impulse was to rush to his side, 
but a feeling of tender awe held her back. She 
would never let her father know that she had heard 
what was intended only for the heavenly Father’s 
ear. She lay awake trying to decide what could be 
done. She had not thought before of her father’s 
dread of losing his customers, and in her worry 
over his health, she had not thought of the problem 
of how they were to live if he did not regain his 
strength. 

Suddenly a thought came to her. Why could not 
she take her father’s place? She could do it better 
than anything else. She knew the route, for she 
had been over the road with him dozens of times. 
She had brought the card from the post-office 
each day that was sent from the city, telling 
the latest market prices. To-morrow was his day 
for the trip over the longest part of the route, 
and she would go in his place. She would not wait 
to ask him, but would go before he was awake, and 
after he had seen how well she could do the work, 
he would not object. In the gray, early morning, 
she took the lantern and went to feed Dan De. 
W T hen she came back Aunt Martha was up, and 


As Stars in Their Places . 


113 


getting the breakfast ready. Hester closed the 
door between the kitchen and her father’s room 
softly, then told Aunt Martha what she intended 
to do. 

“I want to go before father wakes. I’ll wrap up 
w T ell, and put on father’s coat. I know the way so 
well, and I know I can do it; please don’t say no, 
Aunt Martha,” she pleaded. 

Aunt Martha set her lips firmly together after 
a fashion she had when much moved over anything, 
then she fixed Hester’s breakfast, and hung the 
heavy lap-robe by the stove to warm, and Hester 
knew she had gained Aunt Martha’s permission 
to try her plan. 

She harnessed Dan De to the wagon, and wrap- 
ping herself in the great coat and heavy robe, she 
set out for the long day’s work. A chill March 
fog was in the air, the road was frozen and the 
wagon jostled and jolted over the rough roads. 
She could see the lights across the fields at distant 
farmhouses, but no one was stirring abroad yet, 
and she felt that she and Dan De had the whole 
gray old world to themselves. 

After an hour’s drive she came to the first house 
on her route. The women folk of the farmhouse 
came out in a body, glad that the huckster had 
come at last, but many were their exclamations 
of surprise when Hester turned down the heavy 
robe and stepped out of the huge coat. They had 
heard of her father’s sickness, and it did not take 
long to explain to them that she intended to take 
her father’s place. They were a plain people, who 
understood well what it meant for the bread-win- 


114 


As Stars in Their Places . 


ner in the house to be disabled. Their kindly sym- 
pathy went straight to Hester’s heart, but there 
was no time for sentiment, and after answering 
all of their well-meant questions, and making note 
of a dozen different remedies that were sure to 
bring him out in no time, she proceeded to busi- 
ness, for she had a long drive to make before night. 
Her father’s customers all along the route met 
her with helpful, encouraging words, and she soon 
proved to all of them that they were dealing with 
a very businesslike young woman. The people all 
knew her and did not stand on ceremony, but called 
her Hettie, just as they had heard her father do. 
The stock of dry goods in the big box ran low, as 
the other boxes filled with eggs and butter, and 
the coop under the wagon filled with chickens. The 
customers who seldom went to town in the winter, 
wanted to trade out the price of their produce. 
The women seemed glad of a chance to send by a 
woman for things they so much needed, and Hester 
received so many orders that her note-book was 
full. 

It was almost night when she reached Brandt’s 
Crossing. She put Dan De in the barn and fed 
him well, patting his smooth gray neck before she 
left him. Aunt Martha helped her carry in the 
butter and eggs, and put the chickens in a coop in 
the shed, and told her how her father had worried 
about her all day long. 

Hester almost dreaded seeing him, but when she 
came in fresh and rosy from the cold air, and told 
him of her good luck all through the day, and 
showed him how many orders she had received dur- 


As Stars in Their Places. 


115 


ing the day for the next week, his eyes shone with 
pride, and he laughed heartily as she told off on 
her fingers the various remedies that had been 
recommended for his use. After she had cheered 
him up a bit, she came close to his side, and smooth- 
ing his soft white hair, said gently : “You must not 
worry, father, when I am away. You have taken 
care of me for so long, now I’m going to take care 
of you. I am going to the city with the marketing 
to-morrow. Don’t say no, father; some one will 
have to do it, and there is no one but me. No one 
would dare to hurt me, and I’m sure that I can 
sell the things all right, for I have seen you do it 
so often.” 

Hiram Hinkle dreaded the thought of his pure, 
sweet daughter going to the city, among the rough 
market men, without his protecting care, but he 
knew that it was just as she had said, it had to be 
done, and there was no one else to do it. 

On Saturday morning Hester arose earlier than 
usual, and, packing the marketing into the wagon, 
she was soon on her way to the city. When she 
turned into the pike she found that, early as it 
was, she was in a long line of huckster wagons all 
bound for the market in the city, and when, after 
the long drive, she had reached the city, she found 
many wagons ahead of her at the market-housa 
She backed her wagon into the long shed, as near 
the place where her father always stopped, as she 
could get it. She then took Dan De to the livery 
stable near by, and the men eyed her curiously. 
Most of them knew her from seeing her with her 


116 


As Stars in Their Places. 


father, and a few of them knew why she was there 
in his placa 

After she had gone they gathered in the office of 
the stable, to talk it over. “I tell you she’ll have 
trouble if 4 Double-fisted Dave ’ gets set aginst her,” 
said one man. 

“Double-fisted Dave” was the terror of all the 
hucksters. He was a great, rough fellow, who set- 
tled all difficulties with his huge fists, and it took 
very little infringement on what he considered his 
rights, to get him “ set aginst ” any one. 

“I’ll tell you what we’ll do,” said another man. 
“We’ll get him out to one side, and tell him all 
about Hi Hinkle’s trouble, and how his plucky 
little gal is takin’ his place, but we’ll let on to him 
like we don’t like it, and we're goin’ to try and 
beat her out of the trade, and I’ll bet you that he 
stands by her, for he alius works by contraries.” 

“There he comes this minute,” said the first 
speaker, and a hush fell on the crowd as he stalked 
into the office. 

“What does it mean, Hi Hinkle a-sendin’ that 
slip of a gal to market?” he demanded in a loud 
voice. 

The self-appointed spokesman answered: “It 
jest means that Hi Hinkle’s a-tryin’ to play off sick, 
and sendin’ that pretty gal of his’n to draw trade 
away from us fellers, but we’re not goin’ to have 
any of his schemes worked on us. We’re goin’ to 
beat her out of sellin’ that load on market, and 
she’ll have to take it to the commission house and 
not get muiii more than she paid. Sneakin’ Joe 
he’s a-goin’ to skeer her a little about not havin’ 


As Stars in Their Places. 


117 


any license to sell, and I bet we don’t see her here 
another market day.” 

The name “Sneakin’ Joe” had the same effect on 
“Double-fisted Dave” that shaking a red rag in a 
bull’s face would have. “Sneakin’ Joe” (the most 
unpopular huckster on the road, on account of his 
underhanded ways) had brought him into trouble 
on account of lack of license once. He had given 
him a good drubbing for it, but had never forgiven 
or forgotten it. He tramped wildly up and down 
the office, and fairly roared out: “You’re a pretty- 
lookin’ set to beat a gal out of her trade, and her 
father home not able to help hisself. I tell you, 
he’s sick. Hi Hinkle ain’t a man that pertends 
things. As for ‘Sneakin’ Joe,’ you jest let me ketcli 
him tryin’ to skeer her about license, the ornery, 
sneakin’ pup; he don’t even let his left hand get 
a glimpse of the meanness he’s been doin’ with his 
right hand ; jest let me ketch him, and there’ll be 
somebody else skeered,” and shaking his fist in the 
face of the crowd, he stormed out of the office. The 
men chuckled over the success of their scheme, and 
went their ways to their day’s work. 

“Double-fisted Dave” rolled his wagon in by the 
side of the Hinkle wagon, and Hester felt fright- 
ened, for she had heard all her life of the rough, 
ugly old fellow, but when he spoke to her, offering 
kindly suggestions about displaying her load of 
marketing to the best advantage, she soon forgot 
her fears. 

When the market had really opened, the people 
flocked in to buy. The different husksters all cry- 
ing their wares at once, made such discord that 


118 


As Stars in Their Places . 


Hester felt inclined to run, but “Double-fisted 
Dave” neglected his own loaded wagon to direct 
customers to where she stood waiting, and people 
crowded around, attracted by the neat display, and 
the appearance of the quiet, ladylike girl. Her 
load was sold out first of all the long row of wagons. 

After she had eaten her lunch, and harnessed 
Dan De to the wagon, she went to the large whole- 
sale houses, where her father always traded, to get 
her supplies. She soon had the groceries packed 
in the empty boxes, but she lingered longer over 
purchasing the dry goods, trying to select the best 
and prettiest ginghams and calicoes she could get 
for her money. She added a few notions and a box 
of ribbons and of laces to her stock, and was soon 
on her way home. When she had driven several 
miles, she stopped for Dan De to rest. A wagon 
went rattling by; then the driver brought the 
horses to an abrupt stop, and, climbing out of his 
wagon, came back to her. It was John Hart. He 
had heard of her trip over the route gathering up 
the marketing, but he had never dreamed that 
Hiram Hinkle would allow Hester to go to the 
city. 

“Hettie, why didn’t you let me know, and I 
would have arranged some way for the things to 
have been sold?” he said anxiously. 

She laughed mischievously, as she answered, “I 
didn’t need any help, I’m sure. I sold out before 
you did.” Then she added in a serious tone: 
“John, you needn’t worry over me. I am not 
afraid to work, and no one will harm me. The 
men were all kind to me, even ‘Double-fisted Dave,’ 


As Stars in Tlieir Places . 


119 


who was the only one I really feared, but I will 
promise you one thing, John, if I ever do need 
help, I will come to you at once, but just so long 
as I can, I will depend on myself,” and with this 
promise he had to be content. 

In the w 7 eeks that follow 7 ed, Hester knew that 
John Hart shielded her from many unpleasant 
things. She knew that on market days he timed 
his starting from home and arrival in the city so 
that he might be near her, and driving home in the 
dusky evening, she could hear his cheery wiiistling, 
and felt no fear. 

One day late in April she had been slow in sell- 
ing her load. It had been a raw, ugly day, and the 
people had not crowded the market as usual. It 
grew late, and she had taken what was left of her 
load to a commission house, and had sold it a.t 
considerable loss. It had been hard w r ork finding 
just w r hat she w 7 anted at the wholesale houses, and 
she was late in starting from the city. She felt 
tired and discouraged, the pike was sloppy from 
the rains, and the muddy water splashed from 
Dan De’s big feet, and trickled dow 7 n from the 
w r heels. It grew 7 dark early, and when she had 
passed the outskirts of tow r n and had reached the 
first strip of woodland, it was hard to distinguish 
objects ahead. Hettie dreaded the long drive in 
the dark, and feared that John, tired with the long 
wait, had gone on wdthout her. 

Suddenly Dan De stopped short and reared vio- 
lently as a dark object sprang from the dusk of the 
w r ood, and caught him by the rein. Hester felt 
her heart stop beating for a moment ; then it beat 


120 


As Stars in Their Places. 


so wildly she felt that the man in the road could 
hear it. She had gathered up the lines tight with 
the thought of making one desperate effort to force 
Dan De past the man, when she heard some one 
coming in at the back of the wagon. The man at 
the horse’s head demanded her money, saying he 
had no time for foolishness. 

A scarf was thrown over her head from behind, 
but she pushed it up as she cried out, “You cow- 
ards, would you rob a woman?” 

Then she heard a shrill voice from behind her 
cry out, “O pap, it’s Miss Hester; I can’t do it, 
pap, I just can’t.” 

It was Dasy Miller’s voice. 

“Shut up, you idiot,” came the low growl, ac- 
companied by the ominous click of a revolver. “If 
she don’t hand over her money, she won’t be Miss 
anybody in about two minutes.” 

The man started toward the wagon, and the 
boy whispered, “Drive on quick, Miss Hester; he’ll 
hurt you;” then he leaped from the wagon and 
grappled with the man. 

Hester did not wait for further bidding, but as 
the wagon rattled away, she heard a shot, followed 
by one shrill scream of pain and terror. Her blood 
ran cold in her veins, and she urged Dan De on 
at his utmost speed. When she had driven for a 
long time so fast that poor old Dan De panted 
for breath, she heard the rattle of a wagon behind 
her, and John’s cheery voice calling to her. He 
explained how he had been detained in the city, 
but had driven hard to catch up with her for fear 
that she would feel afraid all alone. She tried to 


As Stars in Their Places . 


121 


answer in her natural voice, for she had decided 
that it would be best to let no one know of the 
hold-up. It would cause her father and Aunt 
Martha great uneasiness, and it was not likely to 
ever occur again. 

In a few weeks a letter came from Dell telling 
of her work at the mission. “I have your class,” 
she wrote, “and when they get restless and will not 
listen to the lesson, I tell them my latest news 
from you. They are more interested in your doings 
than in their own salvation. I had to explain over 
and over about your work to that daffy Dasy 
Miller, but he is gone now, poor little fellow. They 
moved from here to the city, and one of the boys 
told me Sunday that Dasy had been hurt in an 
accident some way, and died last week.” 

Hester read the letter on the road as Dan De 
jogged slowly along, and at the close she shed 
bitter tears over the brave little fellow who had 
given his life to shield her from harm. 


122 


As Stars in Their Places . 


CHAPTER X. 

The days passed away all very much alike, with 
the three trips out over the country roads and the 
one trip up the pike to the city each week. 

Hester’s customers were pleased with the goods 
she selected for them, and her visits were looked 
forward to with pleasure. The trade increased 
until her father said, w T ith a tremulous laugh, that 
it was well enough that he was laid upon the shelf. 
It was hard for him to bear the sitting at home, 
nursing the helpless arm that gained no strength, 
but Hester’s home-coming always cheered him, and 
she did not let him know how tired she grew of 
the long drives over the muddy roads. 

One thing brightened the monotonous life, and 
this was the weekly letter from Dell. Letters like 
Dell’s own merry self, full of life and cheer, tell- 
ing all the college news and of her work at the 
mission church with Professor Rice. 

Occasionally there came other letters to the little 
office for Hester — large, square ones addressed in a 
firm, manly hand, and Hester read Keith Carroll’s 
letters over many times before laying them aside. 
They were written in a bright, friendly vein, much 
like Dell’s letters, and Hester answered in the same 
way, giving to both such droll and amusing descrip- 
tions of her work that they laughed heartily as 
they compared their news from her. 

In one of her letters to Keith she had said: 
“Your letters are all that I have to remind me 


As Stars in Their Places. 123 

that I was ever Miss Hester, and a college girl. 
Here I am just plain Hettie, the huckster.” 

In speaking of this to Dell, Keith said : “I can’t 
bear to have her do it. She is too much of a lady 
to settle down in that obscure place and do such 
work. The idea of calling her a huckster !” 

Dell laughed mischievously as she said: “She 
is merely fulfilling your prophecy made last Hal- 
lowe’en; the thought of her being a huckster at 
some time in the future did not seem to worry you 
then.” 

Keith looked at her suspiciously for a moment, 
then turned away, rubbing his forehead in a know- 
ing way. 

Sometimes, after reading Keith Carroll’s letters, 
Hester found herself comparing him with John 
Hart. When she thought of the handsome, well- 
dressed fellow, John suffered in comparison, but 
when she remembered all John’s thoughtfulness 
and kindness, she felt ashamed of herself. 

Dell wrote of all the festivities of Commence- 
ment week, describing the Commencement, in 
which both she and Keith had graduated with 
honors. At the close of her letter she asked if she 
might come to spend the summer with Hester. 
“Father is going to be busy with some very im- 
portant cases, and can not take me abroad as he 
had planned,” she wrote, “and I don’t want to go 
to the mountains with Aunt Sue, nor to the lakes 
with Aunt Clara. If you would only let me come, 
I would be so glad. I’ll pay my board and help 
Aunt Martha, and I know I can be company for 
your father while you are out on the road. I 


124 


As Stars in Their Places . 


want your Miss Mollie to sew for me, but I want 
most of all to see you. Now, please say ‘Yes.’ ” 

When Hester read the letter aloud, Aunt Martha 
said scornfully: “I guess I don’t want no judge’s 
liigh-falutin’ daughter a-helpin’ me;” but Hester’s 
father, seeing the longing look in her eyes and 
remembering Dell’s sweet, friendly ways, plead her 
cause so well that Aunt Martha relented, saying 
rather ungraciously: “I guess she can keep out of 
my way mostly, and her board money will be a 
help.” 

So the letter was sent telling Dell that she might 
come, and Hester went herself to meet her at the 
station with the wagon and Dan De, to bring her 
and her trunk home. 

And Dell came, Dell, with all her sweet, sunny 
ways, making Hester’s heart glad just to look at 
her, brightening life for poor, helpless Hiram Hin- 
kle by her kindly sympathy and thoughtful atten- 
tions when Hester was away. She read to him 
when he was awake, fanned him gently while he 
slept, and, best of all, never tired of talking with 
him about Hester, the dearest girl on earth. 

She dried dishes for Aunt Martha, fed the chick- 
ens and hunted eggs, and was so friendly and 
unassuming that Aunt Martha’s hard heart soft- 
ened, and she learned to love Dell almost as well 
as Hester did. 

Dell went to church on Sundays with Hester, 
and soon came to know and love the kind-hearted 
village folk, and after she had met Mrs. Talbot 
and Professor Earle, she did not wonder at Hes- 
ter’s praise of them. 


As Stars in Their Places . 125 

When she unpacked her trunk she snowed to 
Hester a huge bundle of clothes that she had cast 
aside as out of date, and told her why she had 
brought them. 

“I wanted Miss Mollie to make them over for 
me, as she did your things. I like a dressmaker 
that will allow one to have some individuality. I 
wouldn’t dare ask Madame Arnault to remodel a 
dress, and she never allows me to say what I 
want or how I want it made. She has always made 
my clothes, and says she knows what is suitable 
for a girl in my station in life. Father gives me 
an allowance for my clothes, and if I can use 
these and have Miss Mollie make them, I can pay 
her well and still have a large per cent, of it left, 
for he makes the allowance to suit Madame 
Arnault’s bills.” 

After they had talked it over, Dell said: “You 
are wondering why I am getting so economical, so I 
will tell you. Since I have been working with 
Professor Eice, I have learned that extravagance 
is sin, when so many are in want, and I intend 
to give the money I can save, for the work at the 
mission.” 

Miss Mollie was glad to get the work, and was 
in her element, planning to make the lovely goods 
over so that it would look just like new. 

She soon learned to love her Hettie’s friend, for 
on the days when Hester could be at home with 
her father, Dell spent the afternoons in Miss 
Mollie’s pleasant little sewing-room, helping to 
rip the goods and plan the different costumes. 

Miss Mollie never knew how, in the long, quiet 


126 


As Stars in Their Places. 


afternoons, she taught lessons in pure, unselfish 
living to this young girl, brought up in luxurious 
idleness. 

One day Hiram Hinkle insisted that Dell should 
go with Hester over one route, “Just to see how 
the huckstering business was carried one,” he said. 

They started in the cool, gray dawn of a July 
morning. Dell was wild with delight over the 
sunrise, the beautiful landscape, and everything 
that was so new and full of pleasant surprise for 
her. 

She laughed when Hester talked to Dan De, 
and asked: “Why did you ever call him Dandy? 
He looks more dignified than dandified to me.” 

“Who called him Dandy?” asked Hester. “No 
one ever dared insult his dignity by calling him 
that before. When father brought him home years 
ago he was a strong, handsome young horse, and I 
was reading ‘Daniel Deronda.’ Now, do you see 
the connection? The full name made too big a 
mouthful for father, so he shortened it to Dan De.” 

“Well, to make up for my insult to his dignity, 
I will give him his full name henceforth,” said 
Dell. 

Hester would not tell Dell anything about the 
people she would meet that day, saying that she 
wanted her to see them with her own eyes, and 
then tell her on the way home the opinion she had 
formed of each one. 

When they came in sight of the first house on 
the route, Hester drew out the long tin bugle that 
her father had always carried, and with two or 
three musical blasts she announced their coming. 


As Stars in Their Places. 


127 


When they reached the gate, a little woman came 
out with a pail of eggs. Her thin wisp of hair was 
drawn back into a tight button-like ball at the 
nape of her neck, and her keen little eyes set close 
together looked suspiciously out on the world that 
she had found a rough, hard place to live in. 

After Hester had counted out the eggs, she said : 
“Just five dozen, Mrs. Rinker.” 

“No, no, you are mistaken,” was the hurried 
reply. “I counted them eggs myself, and they 
was six dozen. Fd ’a’ never thought you’d try to 
cheat a pore woman that a way. I’m shore your 
father tried to raise you honest.” 

Dell felt an angry flush sweep over her face, and 
turned to see how Hester would meet such rude- 
ness, but Hester was calmly lifting out a small 
box with the eggs in it. 

She set it down in front of the woman, and, hand- 
ing her the pail, said: “I counted them into this 
empty box, but probably I made a mistake; now 
I’ll watch while you count them back into the 
pail.” 

The woman saw that she was caught in her 
trick, but counted them out, then said doggedly: 
“I reckon I must ’a’ been mistaken.” 

Hester put them back into the box, then asked 
pleasantly if she wanted to trade out the amount. 

Mrs. Rinker wanted calico for a wrapper. She 
looked at each piece in the box, asking Hester if 
they would fade, and chewing a slip cut from the 
corner of each to convince herself, finally selecting 
the piece that chewed the toughest, and the colors 
ran least. 


128 


As Stars in Their Places . 


“How many yards do you need?” Hester asked, 
and Mrs. Rinker answered crossly: “It only took 
five when I bought a wrapper from your father. 
He alius measured the length of his arm to the end 
of his nose, and turned his head the other way to 
make a full yard, but since you’ve been hucksterin’, 
and measure with that little short stick, it takes 
ever’ scrap of seven.” 

Dell turned her head to hide the laugh that 
would come, over Hiram Hinkle’s way of measur- 
ing, but Hester soberly measured off seven yards, 
settled up the trade and they drove on. 

The next stopping-place was at Farmer Brown’s. 
At the sound of the bugle, the mother came out, fol- 
lowed by a slender girl with an eager, expectant 
look on her face. After the trading was done, 
Hester drew a large bundle of magazines from 
under the seat, saying: “Here are the magazines 
I promised to bring you, Bessie. After you read 
them they are to go to Jamie Rives, and I will 
bring some more to you.” 

The girl’s face brightened, and she grasped the 
magazines hungrily. After they had driven on, 
Hester told Dell of the poor, starved life that 
Bessie lived, and how she was trying to help her. 
“I tried to get her mother to subscribe for a good 
magazine for her,” she said, “but when I showed 
the magazine to her, she said it would be a waste of 
time and money to take a paper that size. She 
wanted a big newspaper that would fit on the pan- 
try shelves. I have asked Professor Earle and Mrs. 
Talbot for their old magazines, and I intend to have 
a regular circulating library this winter.” 


As Stars in Their Places . 


129 


Dell promptly decided that she would send a 
great box of magazines and books for the circu- 
lating library when she went home. 

At the next house a longer stop was made for 
Dan De to rest. After the butter was weighed, the 
eggs counted and the trading done, Dell talked to 
the sensible little housewife, while Hester heard 
Jamie Rives recite the lessons she had given him 
the week before. 

She brought out from under the wagon seat more 
books for the eager boy. 

Jamie’s mother explained proudly to Dell how 
Jamie had finished common school work, but they 
could not send him to college for awhile on account 
of the bad crop year. 

Jamie had grieved so over the wasted time until 
Hester had come. She had understood just how he 
felt, and had promised to help him each week, until 
they could spare the money to send him to some 
good school. 

“I can’t tell you, miss, what a blessin’ she’s been 
to Jamie, and to all the folks on her route,” she 
concluded. 

At noon Dell and Hester ate the lunch Aunt 
Martha had put up for them, while Dan De ate his 
oats out of the box trough at the back of the wagon. 

After dinner they started back towards Brandt’s 
Crossing, coming in on a different road, and the 
space under the wagon seat still yielded delightful 
things. At one place it was a new game for a little 
crippled boy; at another a book on voice culture 
was brought out for Leta Darrow. Mrs. Talbot, 
who had been a fine musician, had loaned it to 


130 


As Stars in Their Places . 


Hester for the little girl, promising to come once 
each month to help her with her music. 

Hester asked Leta to sing for Dell. Dell had 
heard often of this musical prodigy, but had al- 
lowed much for Hester’s untrained ear. She ex- 
pected to hear a sweet, simple, childish voice, but 
as she listened to the pure, rich tones, she fully 
agreed with Hester that some day Leta Darrow 
would delight larger audiences, if she could only 
have proper training. 

They drove on through the long afternoon, stop- 
ping at the houses that belonged on Hester’s route, 
meeting everywhere a hearty welcome. At last 
they came in sight of the last house on the route. 

Hester raised the bugle to her lips, and blew the 
melody of that sweetest of songs, “Home, Sweet 
Home.” 

In answer to Dell’s look of inquiry, she said: 
“I always blow that tune when I come to Aunt 
Maggie’s, for, next to my own home, hers is the 
homiest place I ever knew.” 

Aunt Maggie came to the door with a beaming 
welcome shining in her kind old eyes. Her spec- 
tacles were pushed up on her forehead, but when 
Hester introduced her friend, she pulled them 
down, looked intently at Dell, then said: “I like 
you ; you’re just the kind of a friend I’d ’a’ picked 
out for my Hettie, and that’s sayin’ a good deal in 
your favor.” 

Hester climbed down from the wagon seat, and 
unreined Dan De, letting him crop the grass at 
his feet. 

She reached her hand to Dell, saying: “Come 


As Stars in Their Places . 


131 


down; we always camp awhile when we get to 
Aunt Maggie’s.” 

When they entered the neat little cottage, Dell 
thought with Hester that it was one of the homiest 
places she had ever seen ; everything was clean and 
bright, Aunt Maggie included. 

She invited them into the kitchen, saying she did 
not have her butter quite ready. She gave them a 
plateful of crisp, brown cookies, with a pitcher 
of the fresh buttermilk and two quaint mugs to 
drink from. Hester laughingly explained to Dell 
that this was always part of the program at Aunt 
Maggie’s. 

W T hen Aunt Maggie had bared her arms to the 
elbow, she brought out a huge tray of butter. She 
kneaded the water out of it until it was solid and 
as yellow as gold. She patted it into long, smooth 
rolls, laying each one on a clean white cloth. Then 
she peeled a large potato, cut it in diamond shape 
at one end and marked the diamond in tiny squares. 
Dell watched with curious eyes, wondering what 
she intended to do with it. 

After Aunt Maggie had cut and trimmed the 
diamond to suit her, she planted it firmly in the 
center of one of the rolls of butter, lifted it to see 
that the print was all right, then made a row of the 
diamonds through the center, and along the sides 
of the roll. 

Dell drew in her breath with a gasp of surprise 
when she saw the clear impression made by this 
original butter print. She was on her feet in a 
second, begging: “O Aunt Maggie, let me do it 
once.” Aunt Maggie gave the potato to her, and 


132 


As Stars in Their Places. 


watched while she printed the rolls in neat, precise 
rows. 

When she had finished she cried out: “Oh for 
more butter to print! I should like to stand here 
forever pressing that diamond into firm rolls of 
butter. That is the most useful diamond I ever 
saw.” 

Aunt Maggie laughed gayly. “No, no, dear, you 
wouldn’t want to do it forever. Hettie used to feel 
that way about it when she was a little girl and 
came here with her father, but just see how calm 
she is now, settin’ by and watch in’ you do it. Here, 
Hettie, come and eat your print.” 

“Aunt Maggie always gave me the print to eat 
when I was a little girl, and she thinks I must have 
it yet,” said Hester. 

Splitting the potato in two pieces, she said: 
“I’ll divide with you to-day, Dell.” She gave Dell 
half, and they laughingly ate the crisp, salted bite. 

The butter was wrapped and put in a separate 
box for Hester’s fastidious customers on the mar- 
ket, and, after bidding Aunt Maggie an affectionate 
good-by, they started on the road toward home. 

Dan De was tired, and they drove slowly, 
stopping sometimes to rest. Once, when they had 
stopped, Dell turned to Hester and said: “I was 
to tell you, when we had finished the route, 
what opinion I had formed of your people. With 
two exceptions (Mrs. R inker, and the woman who 
cared for literature only as a shelf covering), I 
found them good, whole-souled people. I think I 
never enjoyed a day so much in my life. Life is so 
pure and wholesome here. I felt that the people 


As Stars in Their Places . 133 

said what they really meant, and expected me to do 
the same. I can tell yon a discovery I have made 
to-day, too, Hester Hinkle. You are not a huck- 
ster; you are a missionary. There, you needn’t 
look so surprised. Haven’t I watched you all day, 
and seen your influence over these people and the 
pleasure you bring into their monotonous lives? 
You have done more kind things to-day than I ever 
did in all my selfish life.” 

Dell paused, and Hester clasped one of her hands 
close as she said: “You shall not depreciate my 
best friend ; no one could be kinder than you have 
always been to me since I have known you.” 

Dell laughed as she answered: “My kindness 
to you was only one form of selfishness. I loved 
you and wanted you near me.” 

After a few moments of silence, Dell said, as if 
in continuation of her first remark: “But you 
can’t stay stay here among them always.” 

“Why not?” demanded Hester. 

“Just because Keith Carroll will not let you.” 

The answer was so unexpected that Hester’s 
face flushed and she stammered out: “Oh, Dell, 
I thought, I thought — ” 

“Yes, I know what you thought,” was the quick 
response. “You thought Keith cared for me, but 
you were mistaken. We have always been the best 
of friends, but we are too much alike — both spoiled 
children — to care for each other as every one 
seemed determined we should. Keith confided in 
me his intention of bringing you out of this desert, 
where you are wasting your sweetness, and he will 


134 


As Stars in Their Places . 


do it. He is so strong and handsome you can not 
resist him.” 

Hester sat with a troubled look on her face, 
wondering why both Keith and John should spoil 
their pleasant friendship by caring for her in this 
way. 

Dell, misunderstanding the look, said: "If you 
will not believe that Keith and I are only friends, 
then I must prove it to you by telling you what I 
have already told him. I have promised to help 
Professor Rice with his mission work all through 
life. There now, stare at me as if you thought I 
had lost my mind. I know it is a surprising thing 
for Dell Duncan to be willing to give up her life of 
ease and luxury, but, oh, Hester, it is so easy to 
give up everything for his sake. When you were 
sick in January, I couldn’t bear to hear Professor 
Rice praising your work, and feel that he was 
disappointed in me. It made me feel bitter some- 
times even toward you; then, when you gave me 
your place so willingly, I felt ashamed of my petty 
jealousy. After I had worked with Professor 
Rice for awhile, I became interested. When I saw 
how true and unselfish he was, I tried to make my 
life like his ; but all the time there was the memory 
of the deception about the prize story rankling 
in my mind, until at last it made me so miserable 
I just had to tell him. I remember saying at the 
last, ‘1 don’t know what you will think of me, but 
I had to tell you.’ And then he told me what he 
really thought of me. I can’t tell you what he 
said; he hadn’t intended telling me until I had 
finished my college work, and not even then without 


As Stars in Their Places . 


135 


first asking father’s permission, but he said he did 
not know what he was really saying until it was 
all said, and I knew then why it had made me so 
miserable to deceive him.” 

When Dell had finished, Hester dropped the 
lines, and, taking Dell’s face in her two brown 
hands, pulled her toward her and kissed her, as she 
told her how glad she was. “I had always thought 
Professor Rice cared for you, Dell, since I first 
knew both of you,” she said, “but I never supposed 
that there was the least mite of a chance for him 
to win Judge Duncan’s daughter. What does your 
father say?” 

“Father was disappointed at first, but after he 
had talked to Professor Rice, and knew him better, 
he was very glad his daughter had made such a 
sensible decision, but the aunties — I think I have 
broken their hearts. That is the reason I did not 
want to go with either of them this summer. Each 
one of them has some eligible young man in view, 
and they still hope to alter my decision. I have 
finished my college work now, and father will take 
me abroad in the autumn, and when I come home 
I am coming back to Delmar, to help my professor 
with the mission church.” 






















As Stars in Their Places . 


137 


CHAPTER XI. 

It was late when the girls reached Brandt’s Cross- 
ing. While Hester took Dan De to the stable, and 
carried in the marketing, Dell gave to Hiram Hin- 
kle an interesting account of the day. She boasted 
of Hester’s shrewdness and business ability, then 
spoke in a softer tone of her helpful, winning 
ways, and of how much the people on the route 
loved and respected her. 

The old man’s face glowed over the praise she 
gave his daughter. He kissed Hester affection- 
ately, calling her “father’s little girl,” then said 
he was tired, and Aunt Martha and Hester 
helped him to bed. 

The girls slept soundly through the night, and 
in the morning Aunt Martha called them to get 
ready for breakfast. 

Hester tiptoed into the room to see if her father 
was awake. He lay quite still, and she called 
him gently. He did not answer, and, stooping 
over, she kissed his forehead, but started back 
with a cry of alarm, for while they slept, Hiram 
Hinkle had laid down his work and gone home. 

The little village was stirred from its sluggish 
sleep, and the people mourned with Aunt Martha 
and Hester the loss of their kind old friend. 

To Hester it seemed that life was a blank. It 
had been easy enough to go out in the world when 
she had father’s counsel and love to rely on, but 
now she felt weak and helpless. She remembered 
her promise given to John Hart in a spirit of 


138 


As Stars in Their Places . 


fun, to call for him if she ever needed help, and 
she asked him to attend to everything. It was 
John who brought the undertaker, who announced 
the time of the funeral, arranged for music, and 
did the many things that no one else thought of 
doing. 

The country church was crowded. Many came 
as friends and many more from a feeling of 
curiosity, as people do in a country place, where 
few things happen. After the sermon, in which 
the gray-haired minister spoke lovingly, in broken 
tones, of his lifelong friend, the people filed 
slowly past the casket in which Hiram Hinkle 
lay. He looked so peaceful that it seemed he was 
only sleeping. Some few sobbed audibly as they 
held the little wide-eyed children up to see the 
dear old man who had been their friend, and Dell 
felt Hester’s form shake with suppressed emotion. 

They walked from the church to the little ceme- 
tery near by, six of the village men who had 
been his friends acting as pallbearers. After the 
grave was filled, the people tucked away their 
grief and their best handkerchiefs, and went back 
to their work, and Aunt Martha, Dell and Hester 
went back to the lonely home. 

The next day was a trying one. Hester wan- 
dered from room to room trying to be brave and 
trying to cheer Aunt Martha. In the evening 
John Hart came, to tell her that he had arranged 
to take the marketing to the city on the morrow. 

He turned away abruptly when she tried to 
thank him for all he had done for her, for her 


As Stars in Their Places . 


139 


voice broke pitifully and her eyes brimmed over 
with tears. 

The next week Hester started on her route 
again. There were the funeral expenses to be 
paid, and she knew no other way to pay the debts 
and make a living. 

Aunt Martha did not object to her going. She 
felt that it might help her to bear her grief to 
get out away from the lonely home. Hester met 
with kindly sympathy everywhere, but the coming 
home at night to find the arm-chair empty was 
hard to bear. It had been so comforting after a 
hard day’s work to draw the foot-stool close to 
the big chair, and tell father all about it, and to 
have him give advice and smooth her hair while 
he listened. 

Dell and Aunt Martha tried to make the home- 
coming as cheerful as they could, but there came 
a letter for Dell one day asking her to come home 
to prepare for the trip abroad, and inviting Hes- 
ter cordially to go with them. “There is nothing 
like travel and change of scene to help one in 
trouble, and Dell needs some one to help her 
enjoy the trip,” wrote the kind-hearted Judge; 
but Dell argued and plead in vain. 

Hester answered that she had decided to stay 
at home and keep on with her work, and at last, 
Dell, wearied with pleading, said: “Oh, Hester, 
how can you give it all up when you had such 
grand aspirations? You could go abroad with us 
and gather material for that book you intend 
to write. You could do it so well and I never can, 
and I was going to be so proud of you. Then 


140 


As Stars in Their Places. 


you could come live with me and finish your col- 
lege course. If you bury yourself away out here, 
what can you ever expect to do?” 

Hester answered: “I should like to finish my 
college work, but I never expect to do it. But 
the idea of going out of our own beautiful country 
to gather material for a book seems ridiculous to 
me. Some authors gather their material from 
musty volumes of ancient history, trying to 
weave in their modern ideas with the ancient 
background. Some few succeed, but others re- 
mind me of a picture of the ‘Last Supper’ that 
I saw once in an illustrated newspaper. It por- 
trayed the apostles gathered about Christ, 
attired in Prince Albert coats, patent leather 
shoes, and the latest style watch-fob. If I ever 
write, I shall write of life as I find it, and I have 
found more romance, comedy, aye, even tragedy 
[with a shudder at the thought of little Dasy], 
in my common work here, than I would find in 
a thousand volumes of musty history, or years 
spent in other lands. As for burying myself here, 
my life may never count for much, but I shall use 
it all here. Do you see the stars up there, Dell?” 
pointing to the myriads of twinkling stars in the 
blue heaven above them. “There is a passage in 
God’s word, Dell, that tells us he made the sun 
and moon, the greater lights, to rule the day and 
night, and he made the stars also, and set them 
in their places to divide the light from the dark- 
ness, and he saw that it was good. I believe God 
set me here to do what I am able to do, and to 
help the people around me. It all seems plain 


As Stars in Their Places. 


141 


to me now. I have longed to be one of the greater 
lights, forgetting that God made the stars also 
and set them in their places. Dell, this is my 
place just as surely as those stars are in their 
places in the heaven above, and I shall never try 
to leave it again.” 

Dell sat quite still on the little porch, her eyes 
dimmed with tears, but the sunny side of her 
nature could not long be suppressed, and pres- 
ently she laughed softly, with a hint of the tears 
in her laughter as she said: “Oh, you silver- 
tongued orator, your argument is very convincing, 
and I will never try again to persuade you to 
leave your duty, but I can quote Scripture too, 
since I have taken lessons at the mission, and 
there is another place in the Bible that says there 
is a glory of the stars, and one star differeth 
from another star in glory, and you will never be 
a common star, my Hester?” 

When the day came for Dell to leave them, 
Aunt Martha said: “Hettie asked me once if I 
didn’t believe in edjucation, and I told her I 
couldn’t tell who I believed in it for ’til I seen 
it tried on ’em, but I’ve decided it don’t hurt 
the right kind,” and this was the highest com- 
pliment Dell ever received. 

When Dell had gone, the house was so quiet 
that Hester and Aunt Martha spoke in low tones, 
almost frightened at the sound of their own 
voices. 

Aunt Martha looked forward with as much 
longing for Dell’s letters as Hester did, but 


142 


As Stars in Their Places . 


when Keith’s letters came, Hester hurried to her 
room to read them alone. 

The weeks dragged slowly by, and Hester 
wondered if life was all to be as gloomy and 
cheerless as she found it now. 

Coming from market one day in early autumn, 
she saw (looking ahead) that a traveler had 
stopped to rest under the big oak-tree that was 
hers and Dan Dete favorite resting-place. When 
she drew near, Dan De refused to go farther, 
remembering this was the time and place for his 
afternoon rest. The wheelman arose, and Hes- 
ter gave a cry of surprise as she recognized 
Keith Carroll. 

He hurried forward with a glad light in his eyes. 
Hester extended her hand in welcome, but her 
face flushed as she noticed the contrast between 
his white, shapely hand and her own, sun- 
browned and hardened by work. 

It took only a little while for Keith Carroll to 
tell her why he was going to Brandt’s Crossing. 
He plead with her to give up her work for his 
sake, and come with him to a life of ease and 
comfort. As she hesitated, he mistook the cause 
and said eagerly: “No one would dare mistreat 
my wife because she had been a working girl. We 
will go abroad with the Duncans for a year, and 
by the time we return, people will have forgotten 
that you ever drove this lumbering old wagon and 
were a huckster’s daughter.” 

It was an unlucky speech, for Hester’s eyes 
flashed as she answered: “I am proud to have 
been the daughter of a good, honest huckster.” 


As Stars in Their Places . 


143 


Just then Hester heard the rattle of a wagon, 
and John Hart’s voice singing “The Bend of the 
River,” and it all came back to her, the memory 
of the day on the bridge, and she seemed to hear 
him saying, “My love shall be like the steady flow 
of the river, and if your heart should ever turn 
to me, you will know that I am still unchanged.” 
She remembered all of his thoughtful care and 
kindness. 

Keith Carroll had offered her the honor of 
being his wife if she would blot out all the old 
life, while to John Hart she was worthy to be the 
wife of any man, and he looked at her sitting on 
the seat of the lumbering old w T agon with as much 
reverence as if she had been a queen on her throne. 

John Hart saw her companion, and was passing 
on, when she called to him. He stopped his 
horses, and, climbing out of the wagon, came back. 

As he stood, strong and manly, on the opposite 
side of the wagon, Hester felt a thrill of pride as 
she introduced him to Keith Carroll. 

She reached out her hand to him, and as his 
strong fingers closed over hers, she noted with a 
thrill of pleasure that their hands w T ere very much 
alike. Then she said with womanly grace, “I have 
just been telling Mr. Carroll that I am proud to 
have been the daughter of a huckster,” then added, 
looking straight into his honest eyes, “and I 
intend to be a huckster’s wife.” 


THE END. 




















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